I  THE  MIRACLES  I 

&*•• 


&  OF  ANTICHRIST  i 


fl   SELMA  LAGERLOF   1 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The  Miracles  of  Antichrist 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  PORTUGALLIA 

(.Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Velma  Sivanston  Howard) 

JERUSALEM,  A  Novel 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Velma  Stoanston  Howard) 

THE  STORY  OF  GOSTA  BERLING 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Paulitif  Bancroft  Flach) 

THE  WONDERFUL  ADVENTURES  OF  NILS 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Vtlma  Swansion  Howard) 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  NILS 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Velma  Swans  ton  Howard) 

THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  MARSH  CROFT 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Velma  Stoanston  Howard) 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  SACRED  IMAGE 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Velma  Swanston  Howard) 

THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Pauline  Bancroft  Flach) 

CHRIST  LEGENDS 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Velma  Sivanston  Howard) 

FROM  A  SWEDISH  HOMESTEAD 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Jtssic  Brochner) 

INVISIBLE  LINKS 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Pauline  Bancroft  Flack) 

LILLIECRONA'S  HOME 

(Trans,  from  Swedish  by  Anna  Bamttt) 


THE  MIRACLES 
of  ANTICHRIST 

A  NOVEL 


FROM  THE  SWEDISH  OF 

SELMA  LAGERLOF 


TRANSLATED  BY 

PAULINE  BANCROFT  FLACH 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1919 


Copyright,  1899,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages 


College 

Library 


//f? 

CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION: 

CHAPTER  PAGI 

I    THE  EMPEROR'S  VISION I 

II    ROME'S  HOLV  CHILD 9 

III    Ox  THE  BARRICADE 19 

FIRST   BOOK 

I      MONGIBELLO 25 

II     FRA  GAETANO 39 

III  THE  GOD-SISTER 48 

IV  DIAMANTE 62 

V    DON  FERRANTE 64 

VI     DON  MATTEO'S  MISSION 71 

VII    THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE 77 

VIII    Two  SONGS 113 

IX    FLIGHT 125 

X    THE  SIROCCO 128 

XI    THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO 156 

SECOND   BOOK 

I    A  GREAT  MAN'S  WIFE 185 

II     PANEM  ET  CIRCENSES 193 

III  THE  OUTCAST 204 

IV  THE  OLD  MARTYRDOM 213 

V    THE  LADY  WITH  THE  IRON  RING 226 


1265649 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

VI  FRA  FELICE'S  LEGACY 229 

VII  AFTER  THE  MIRACLE 252 

VIII  A  JETTATORE 255 

IX  PALAZZO  GERACI  AND  PALAZZO  CORVAJA    .    .  270 

X  FALCO  FALCONE     286 

XI  VICTORY 315 


THIRD   BOOK 

I    THE  OASIS  AND  THE  DESERT 323 

II    IN  PALERMO 329 

III  THE  HOME-COMING 338 

IV  ONLY  OF  THIS  WORLD     ........  354 

V    A  FRESCO  OF  SIGNORELLI 373 


The   Miracles  of  Antichrist 

INTRODUCTION 

u  When  Antichrist  comes,  he  shall  seem  as  Christ" 


I 

THE   EMPEROR'S  VISION 

IT  was  at  the  time  when  Augustus  was  emperor  in 
Rome  and  Herod  was  king  in  Jerusalem. 

It  happened  once  upon  a  time  that  a  very  great 
and  holy  night  sank  down  over  the  earth.  It  was 
the  darkest  night  ever  seen  by  man;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  earth  had  passed  under  a  vault.  It  was 
impossible  to  distinguish  water  from  land,  or  to  find 
the  way  on  the  most  familiar  paths.  And  it  could 
not  be  otherwise,  for  not  a  ray  of  light  came  from 
the  sky.  All  the  stars  stayed  in  their  houses,  and 
the  fair  moon  kept  her  face  turned  away. 

And  just  as  intense  as  the  darkness  was  the  silence 
and  the  calm.  The  rivers  stood  still  in  their  course; 
the  wind  did  not  stir,  and  even  the  leaves  of  the 
aspen  ceased  to  tremble.  Any  one  walking  by  the 
sea  would  have  found  that  the  waves  no  longer  broke 
on  the  shore,  and  the  sand  of  the  desert  did  not 
crunch  under  the  wanderer's  foot.  Everything  was 
as  if  turned  to  stone  and  without  motion,  in  order 
not  to  disturb  the  holy  night.  The  grass  did  not 
dare  to  grow,  the  dew  could  not  fall,  and  the  flowers 
feared  to  exhale  their  perfume. 


2  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

During  that  night  the  beasts  of  prey  did  not  hunt, 
the  serpents  did  not  sting,  the  dogs  did  not  bay. 
And  what  was  even  more  wonderful,  none  of  the 
inanimate  things  would  have  disturbed  the  holiness 
of  the  night  by  lending  themselves  to  an  evil  deed. 
No  false  key  could  open  a  lock,  and  no  knife  could 
shed  blood. 

In  Rome,  on  that  very  night,  a  little  group  of 
people  came  down  from  the  emperor's  palace  on  the 
Palatine  and  made  their  way  over  the  Forum  to  the 
Capitol.  During  the  day  just  completed  his  coun- 
cillors had  asked  the  emperor  if  they  might  not  raise 
a  temple  to  him  on  Rome's  holy  mountain.  But 
Augustus  had  not  immediately  given  his  consent. 
He  did  not  know  if  it  would  be  pleasing  to  the 
gods  for  him  to  possess  a  temple  next  to  theirs,  and 
he  had  answered  that  he  wished  first  to  discover  by 
a  nocturnal  sacrifice  to  his  genius  what  their  wishes 
were.  Followed  by  a  few  faithful  retainers,  he  was 
now  on  his  way  to  perform  that  sacrifice. 

Augustus  was  carried  in  his  litter,  for  he  was 
old,  and  the  long  stairs  to  the  Capitol  fatigued  him. 
He  held  the  cage  of  doves  which  was  his  offering. 
Neither  priests,  nor  soldiers,  nor  councillors  accom- 
panied him ;  only  his  nearest  friends.  Torch-bearers 
walked  in  front  of  him,  as  if  to  force  a  way  through 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  behind  him  followed 
slaves,  carrying  the  tripod,  the  charcoal,  the  knives, 
the  holy  fire,  and  everything  needed  for  the  sacrifice. 

On  the  way  the  emperor  chatted  gayly  with  his 
retainers,  and  none  of  them  noticed  the  infinite 
silence  and  calm  of  the  night.  It  was  only  on  reach- 
ing the  open  place  on  the  top  of  the  Capitol,  which 
had  been  thought  of  for  the  new  temple,  that  it 


THE  EMPEROR'S    VISION  3 

was  revealed  to  them  that  something  unusual  was 
occurring. 

It  could  not  be  a  night  like  any  other,  for  on  the 
edge  of  the  cliff  they  saw  the  strangest  being.  They 
thought  at  first  that  it  was  an  old  twisted  olive 
trunk;  then  they  thought  that  an  ancient  statue 
from  the  temple  of  Jupiter  had  wandered  out  on  the 
cliff.  At  last  they  saw  that  it  could  only  be  the  old 
sibyl. 

They  had  never  seen  anything  so  old,  so  weather- 
beaten,  and  so  gigantic.  If  the  emperor  had  not  been 
there,  they  would  have  all  fled  home  to  their  beds. 
"It  is  she,"  they  whispered  to  each  other,  "who 
counts  as  many  years  as  there  are  grains  of  sand  on 
her  native  shores.  Why  has  she  come  out  of  her 
cave  to-night?  What  does  she  foretell  to  the 
emperor  and  to  the  country,  she  who  writes  her 
prophecies  on  the  leaves  of  trees,  and  knows  that  the 
wind  carries  the  words  of  the  oracle  to  him  who 
needs  them  ? " 

They  were  so  terrified  that  all  would  have  fallen 
on  their  knees  with  their  foreheads  to  the  ground 
had  the  sibyl  made  the  slightest  movement.  But 
she  sat  as  still  as  if  she  had  been  without  life. 
Crouched  on  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  she  stared  out  into  the 
night.  She  sat  there  as  if  she  had  gone  up  on  the 
hill  the  better  to  see  something  happening  far 
away.  She  alone  could  see  something  in  the  black 
night ! 

At  the  same  moment  the  emperor  and  all  his  suite 
perceived  how  intense  the  darkness  was.  Not  one 
of  them  could  see  a  hand's-breadth  in  front  of  him. 
And  what  n  calm,  what  silence!  They  could  not 


4  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

even  hear  the  rippling  murmur  of  the  Tiber.  The 
air  seemed  to  choke  them ;  a  cold  sweat  came  out  on 
their  foreheads,  and  their  hands  were  stiff  and  power- 
less. They  thought  that  something  dreadful  must 
be  impending. 

But  no  one  liked  to  show  that  he  was  afraid,  and 
everybody  told  the  emperor  that  it  was  a  good  omen ; 
nature  herself  held  her  breath  to  greet  a  new  god. 

They  urged  Augustus  to  hurry,  and  said  that  the 
old  sibyl  had  probably  come  up  from  her  cave  to 
greet  his  genius. 

But  the  truth  was  that  the  old  sibyl,  engrossed  in 
a  vision,  did  not  even  know  that  Augustus  had  come 
to  the  Capitol.  She  was  transported  in  spirit  to 
a  far  distant  land,  where  she  thought  she  was  wan- 
dering over  a  great  plain.  In  the  darkness  she  kept 
striking  her  foot  against  something,  which  she 
thought  to  be  tufts  of  grass.  She  bent  down  and 
felt  with  her  hand.  No,  they  were  not  tufts  of 
grass,  but  sheep.  She  was  walking  among  great 
sleeping  flocks  of  sheep. 

Then  she  perceived  the  fire  of  the  shepherds.  It 
was  burning  in  the  middle  of  the  plain,  and  she 
approached  it.  The  shepherds  were  lying  asleep  by 
the  fire,  and  at  their  sides  they  had  long,  pointed 
staves,  with  which  they  defended  their  flocks  from 
wild  beasts.  But  the  little  animals  with  shining 
eyes  and  bushy  tails,  which  crept  forward  to  the 
fire,  were  they  not  jackals  ?  And  yet  the  shepherds 
did  not  throw  their  staves  at  them ;  the  dogs  con- 
tinued to  sleep;  the  sheep  did  not  flee;  and  the  wild 
beasts  lay  down  to  rest  beside  the  men. 

All  this  the  sibyl  saw,  but  of  what  was  going  on 
behind  her  on  the  mountain  she  knew  nothing. 


THE  EMPERORS   VISION  5 

She  did  not  know  that  people  were  raising  an  altar, 
lighting  charcoal,  strewing  incense,  and  that  the 
emperor  was  taking  one  of  the  doves  out  of  the  cage 
to  make  a  sacrifice  to  her.  But  his  hands  were  so 
benumbed  that  he  could  not  hold  the  bird.  With  a 
single  flap  of  her  wings  the  dove  freed  herself,  and 
disappeared  into  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

When  that  happened,  the  courtiers  looked  sus- 
piciously at  the  old  sibyl.  They  thought  that  it 
was  she  who  was  the  cause  of  the  misfortune. 

Could  they  know  that  the  sibyl  still  thought  she 
was  standing  by  the  shepherds'  fire,  and  that  she 
was  now  listening  to  a  faint  sound  which  came  vibrat- 
ing through  the  dead  silence  of  the  night  ?  She  had 
heard  it  for  a  long  time  before  she  noticed  that  it 
came  from  the  sky,  and  not  from  the  earth.  At 
last  she  raised  her  head,  and  saw  bright,  glistening 
forms  gliding  about  up  in  the  darkness.  They  were 
small  bands  of  angels,  who,  singing,  and  apparently 
searching,  flew  up  and  down  the  wide  plain. 

While  the  sibyl  listened  to  the  angels'  song,  the 
emperor  was  preparing  for  a  new  sacrifice.  He 
washed  his  hands,  purified  the  altar,  and  grasped  the 
other  dove.  But  although  he  now  made  a  special 
effort  to  hold  it  fast,  the  bird  slipped  through  his 
fingers,  and  swung  itself  up  into  the  impenetrable 
night. 

The  emperor  was  appalled.  He  fell  on  his  knees 
before  the  empty  altar  and  prayed  to  his  genius. 
He  called  on  him  for  strength  to  avert  the  misfor- 
tunes which  this  night  seemed  to  portend. 

Nothing  of  all  this  had  the  sibyl  heard.  She  was 
listening  with  her  whole  soul  to  the  angels'  song, 
which  was  growing  stronger  and  stronger.  At  last 


6  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

it  became  so  loud  that  it  wakened  the  shepherds. 
They  raised  themselves  on  their  elbows,  and  sa\* 
shining  hosts  of  silvery  angels  moving  in  the  dark 
viess  in  long,  fluttering  lines,  like  birds  of  passage. 
Some  had  lutes  and  violins  in  their  hands;  other/, 
had  zithers  and  harps,  and  their  song  sounded  as  gay 
as  children's  laughter,  and  as  free  from  care  as  the 
trilling  of  a  lark.  When  the  shepherds  heard  it 
they  rose  up  to  go  to  the  village  which  was  their 
home,  to  tell  of  the  miracle. 

They  went  by  a  narrow,  winding  path,  and  the 
sibyl  followed  them.  Suddenly  it  became  light  on 
the  mountain.  A  great,  bright  star  kindled  over  it, 
and  the  village  oh  its  top  shone  like  silver  in  the 
starlight.  All  the  wandering  bands  of  angels 
hastened  thither  with  cries  of  jubilation,  and  the 
shepherds  hurried  on  so  fast  that  they  almost  ran. 
When  they  had  reached  the  town  they  found  that 
the  angels  had  gathered  over  a  low  stable  near  the 
gate.  It  was  a  wretched  building,  with  roof  of 
straw,  and  the  bare  rock  for  one  wall.  Above  it 
hung  the  star,  and  more  and  more  angels  kept  com- 
ing. Some  of  them  placed  themselves  on  the  straw 
roof,  or  settled  down  on  the  steep  cliff  behind  the 
house ;  others  hovered  over  it  with  fluttering  wings. 
High,  high  up,  the  air  was  lighted  by  their  shining 
wings. 

At  the  moment  when  the  star  flamed  out  over  the 
mountain-village  all  nature  awoke,  and  the  men 
who  stood  on  the  top  of  the  Capitol  were  conscious 
of  it.  They  felt  fresh,  but  caressing  breezes;  sweet 
perfumes  streamed  up  about  them ;  the  trees  rustled ; 
the  Tiber  murmured,  the  stars  shone,  and  the  moon 
stood  high  in  the  heaven  and  lighted  the  world. 


THE  EMPEROR'S   VISION  J 

And  out  of  the  sky  the  two  doves  flew  circling 
down,  and  lighted  on  the  emperor's  shoulders. 

When  this  miracle  took  place  Augustus  rose  up 
with  proud  joy,  but  his  friends  and  his  slaves  fell  on 
their  knees.  "Hail,  Caesar!"  they  cried.  "Your 
genius  has  answered  you !  You  are  the  god  who 
shall  be  worshipped  on  the  heights  of  the  Capitol." 

And  the  tribute  which  the  men  in  their  transport 
offered  the  emperor  was  so  loud  that  the  old  sibyl 
heard  it.  It  waked  her  from  her  visions.  She  rose 
from  her  place  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  came 
forward  toward  the  people.  It  seemed  as  if  a  dark 
cloud  had  risen  up  from  the  abyss  and  sunk  down 
over  the  mountain.  She  was  terrifying  in  her  old 
age.  Coarse  hair  hung  in  thin  tufts  about  her  head, 
her  joints  were  thickened,  and  her  dark  skin,  hard 
as  bark,  covered  her  body  with  wrinkle  upon 
wrinkle. 

Mighty  and  awe-inspiring,  she  advanced  towards 
the  emperor.  With  one  hand  she  seized  his  wrist, 
with  the  other  she  pointed  towards  the  distant  east. 

"Look,"  she  commanded,  and  the  emperor  raised 
his  eyes  and  saw.  The  heavens  opened  before  his 
eyes  and  he  looked  away  to  the  far  east.  And  he 
saw  a  miserable  stable  by  a  steep  cliff,  and  in  the 
open  door  some  kneeling  shepherds.  Within  the 
stable  he  saw  a  young  mother  on  her  knees  before  a 
little  child,  who  lay  on  a  bundle  of  straw  on  the 
floor. 

And  the  sibyl's  big,  bony  fingers  pointed  towards 
that  poor  child. 

"  Hail,  Caesar ! "  said  the  sibyl,  with  a  scornful 
laugh.  "  There  is  the  god  who  shall  be  worshipped 
Dn  the  heights  of  the  Capitol." 


9  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Augustus  shrank  back  from  her  as  if  from  a  maniac. 

But  upon  the  sibyl  fell  the  mighty  spirit  of  the 
prophetess.  Her  dim  eyes  began  to  burn,  her  hands 
were  stretched  towards  heaven,  her  voice  did  not 
seem  to  be  her  own,  but  rang  with  such  strength 
that  it  could  have  been  heard  over  the  whole  world. 
And  she  spoke  words  which  she  seemed  to  have 
read  in  the  stars :  — 

"  On  the  heights  of  the  Capitol  the  redeemer  of  the  world  shall 

be  worshipped, 
Christ  or  Antichrist,  but  no  frail  mortal." 

When  she  had  spoken  she  moved  away  between 
the  terrified  men,  went  slowly  down  the  mountain, 
and  disappeared. 

Augustus,  the  next  day,  strictly  forbade  his  people 
to  raise  him  any  temple  on  the  Capitol.  In  its  place 
he  built  a  sanctuary  to  the  new-born  godchild  and 
called  it  "Heaven's  Altar,"  Aracoeli. 


ROME'S  HOLY  CHILD 


II 

ROME'S  HOLY  CHILD 

ON  the  summit  of  the  Capitol  stood  a  monastery 
occupied  by  Franciscan  monks.  It  was,  however, 
less  a  monastery  than  a  fortress.  It  was  like  a 
watch-tower  by  the  seashore,  where  watch  was  kept 
for  an  approaching  foe. 

Near  the  monastery  stood  the  magnificent  basilica 
"Santa  Maria  in  Aracoeli."  The  basilica  was  built 
because  the  sibyl  had  caused  Augustus  to  see  Christ. 
But  the  monastery  was  built  because  they  feared  the 
fulfilment  of  the  sibyl's  prophecy;  that  Antichrist 
should  come  to  be  worshipped  on  the  Capitol. 

And  the  monks  felt  like  warriors.  When  they 
went  to  church  to  sing  and  pray,  they  thought  that 
they  were  walking  on  ramparts,  and  sending  showers 
of  arrows  down  on  the  assaulting  Antichrist. 

They  lived  always  in  terror  of  Antichrist,  and 
all  their  service  was  a  struggle  to  keep  him  away 
from  the  Capitolium. 

They  drew  their  hats  down  over  their  eyes  and 
sat  and  gazed  out  into  the  world.  Their  eyes  grew 
feverish  with  watching,  and  they  continually  thought 
they  discovered  Antichrist.  "He  is  here,  he  is 
there ! "  they  cried.  And  they  fluttered  up  in  their 
brown  robes  and  braced  themselves  for  the  struggle, 
as  crows  gather  on  a  crag  when  they  catch  a  glimpse 
of  an  eagle. 


10  THE  MIRACLES  OF    ANTICHRIST 

But  some  said :  "  What  is  the  use  of  prayers  and 
penitence?  The  sibyl  has  said  it.  Antichrist  must 
come. " 

Then  others  said,  "  God  can  work  a  miracle.  If 
it  was  of  no  avail  to  struggle,  He  would  not  have 
let  the  sibyl  warn  us." 

Year  after  year  the  Franciscans  defended  the 
Capitol  by  penitences,  and  works  of  charity,  and  the 
promulgation  of  God's  word. 

They  protected  it  century  after  century,  but  as 
time  went  on,  men  became  more  and  more  feeble 
and  lacking  in  force.  The  monks  said  among  them- 
selves :  "  Soon  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  can  stand 
no  longer.  A  redeemer  of  the  world  is  needed  as  in 
the  time  of  Augustus." 

They  tore  their  hair  and  scourged  themselves,  for 
they  knew  that  he  who  was  to  be  born  again  must 
be  the  Antichrist,  and  that  it  would  be  a  regenera- 
tion of  force  and  violence. 

As  a  sick  man  is  tormented  by  his  pain,  so  were 
they  hunted  by  the  thought  of  Antichrist.  And 
they  saw  him  before  them.  He  was  as  rich  as 
Christ  had  been  poor,  as  wicked  as  Christ  had  been 
good,  as  honored  as  Christ  had  been  humiliated. 

He  bore  powerful  weapons  and  marched  at  the 
head  of  bloody  evil-doers.  He  overturned  the 
churches,  murdered  the  priests,  and  armed  people 
for  strife,  so  that  brother  fought  against  brother, 
and  each  feared  his  neighbor,  and  there  was  no 
peace. 

And  for  every  person  of  power  and  might  who 
made  his  way  over  the  sea  of  time,  they  cried  out 
from  the  watchtower  on  the  Capitol :  "  Antichrist, 
Antichrist!" 


ROME'S  HOLY  CHILD  II 

And  for  every  one  who  disappeared,  and  went 
under,  the  monks  cried:  "Hosanna!"  and  sang  the 
"Te  Deum. "  And  they  said:  "It  is  because  of 
our  prayers  that  the  wicked  fall  before  they  succeed 
in  scaling  the  Capitol." 

It  was  a  hard  punishment  that  in  that  beautiful 
monastery  its  monks  could  never  feel  at  rest.  Their 
nights  were  heavier  than  their  days.  Then  they  saw 
wild  beasts  come  into  their  cells  and  stretch  them- 
selves out  beside  them  on  their  beds.  And  each 
wild  beast  was  Antichrist.  But  some  of  the  monks 
saw  him  as  a  dragon,  and  others  as  a  griffin,  and 
others  as  a  sphinx.  When  they  got  up  from  their 
dreams  they  were  as  weak  as  after  a  severe  illness. 

The  only  comfort  of  these  poor  monks  was  the 
miracle-working  image  of  Christ,  which  was  kept  in 
the  basilica  of  Aracoeli.  When  a  monk  was  fright- 
ened to  desperation,  he  went  into  the  church  to 
seek  consolation  from  it.  He  would  go  through  the 
whole  basilica  and  into  a  well-guarded  chapel  at  the 
side  of  the  great  altar.  There  he  lighted  the  con- 
secrated wax  candles,  and  spoke  a  prayer,  before 
opening  the  altar  shrine,  which  had  double  locks 
and  doors  of  iron.  And  as  long  as  he  gazed  at  the 
image,  he  remained  upon  his  knees. 

The  image  represented  a  little  babe,  but  he  had  a 
gold  crown  upon  his  head,  gold  shoes  upon  his  feet, 
and  his  whole  dress  shone  with  jewels,  which  were 
given  to  him  by  those  in  distress,  who  had  called  on 
him  for  help.  And  the  walls  of  the  chapel  were 
covered  with  pictures,  which  showed  how  he  had 
saved  from  dangers  of  fire  and  shipwreck,  how  he 
had  cured  the  sick  and  helped  all  those  who  were  in 
trouble.  When  the  monk  saw  it  he  rejoiced,  and 


12  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

said  to  himself:  "Praise  be  to  God!     As  yet  it  is 
Christ  who  is  worshipped  on  the  Capitol." 

The  monk  saw  the  face  of  the  image  smile  at  him 
with  mysterious,  conscious  power,  and  his  spirit 
soared  up  into  the  holy  realms  of  confidence. 
"What  can  overthrow  you  in  your  might?"  he  said. 
"What  can  overthrow  you?  To  you  the  Eternal 
City  bends  its  knees.  You  are  Rome's  Holy  Child. 
Yours  is  the  crown  which  the  people  worship.  You 
come  in  your  might  with  help  and  strength  and 
consolation.  You  alone  shall  be  worshipped  on  the 
Capitol." 

The  monk  saw  the  crown  of  the  image  turn  into  a 
halo,  which  sent  out  rays  over  the  whole  world. 
And  in  whatever  direction  he  followed  the  rays  he 
saw  the  world  full  of  churches,  where  Christ  was 
worshipped.  It  seemed  as  if  a  powerful  conqueror 
had  shown  him  all  the  castles  and  fortresses  which 
defended  his  kingdom.  "It  is  certain  that  you  can- 
not fall,"  said  the  monk.  "Your  kingdom  will  be 
everlasting." 

And  every  monk  who  saw  the  image  had  a  few 
hours  of  consolation  and  peace,  until  fear  seized 
him  again.  But  had  the  monks  not  possessed  the 
image,  their  souls  would  not  have  found  a  moment's 
rest. 

Thus  had  the  monks  of  Aracoeli,  by  prayers  and 
struggles,  worked  their  way  through  the  centuries, 
and  there  had  never  lacked  for  watchers ;  as  soon  as 
one  had  been  exhausted  by  terror  and  anxiety,  others 
had  hurried  forward  to  take  his  place. 

And  although  most  of  those  who  entered  the 
monastery  were  struck  down  by  madness  or  prema- 
ture death,  the  succession  of  monks  never  dimin- 


XO.VE'S  HOLY  CHILD  13 

ished,  for  it  was  held  a  great  honor  before  God  to 
wage  the  war  on  Aracoeli. 

So  it  happened  that  sixty  years  ago  this  struggle 
still  went  on,  and  in  the  degenerate  times  the  monks 
fought  with  greater  eagerness  than  ever  before,  and 
awaited  the  certain  coming  of  Antichrist. 

At  that  time  a  rich  Englishwoman  came  to  Rome. 
She  went  up  to  the  Aracoeli  and  saw  the  image, 
and  he  charmed  her  so  that  she  thought  she  could 
not  live  if  she  did  not  possess  him.  She  went  again 
and  again  up  to  Aracoeli  to  see  the  image,  and  at 
last  she  asked  the  monks  if  she  might  buy  him. 

But  even  if  she  had  covered  the  whole  mosaic 
floor  in  the  great  basilica  with  gold  coins,  the  monks 
would  not  have  been  willing  to  sell  her  that  image, 
which  was  their  only  consolation. 

Still  the  Englishwoman  was  attracted  beyond 
measure  by  the  image,  and  found  no  joy  nor  peace 
without  it.  Unable  to  accomplish  her  object  by  any 
other  means,  she  determined  to  steal  the  image. 
She  did  not  think  of  the  sin  she  was  committing; 
she  felt  only  a  strong  compulsion  and  a  burning 
thirst,  and  preferred  to  risk  her  soul  rather  than  to 
deny  her  heart  the  joy  of  possessing  the  object 
of  her  longing.  And  to  accomplish  her  end,  she 
first  had  an  image  made  exactly  like  the  one  on 
Aracoeli. 

The  image  on  Aracoeli  was  carved  from  olive  wood 
from  the  gardens  of  Gethsemane;  but  the  English- 
woman dared  to  have  an  image  carved  from  elm 
wood,  which  was  exactly  like  him.  The  image  on 
Aracoeli  was  not  painted  by  mortal  hand.  When  the 
monk  who  had  carved  him  had  taken  up  his  brushes 
and  colors,  he  fell  asleep  over  his  work.  And  when 


14  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

he  awoke,  the  image  was  colored,  —  self-painted  as  a 
sign  that  God  loved  him.  But  the  Englishwoman 
was  bold  enough  to  let  an  earthly  painter  paint  her 
elm  image  so  that  he  was  like  the  holy  image. 

For  the  false  image  she  procured  a  crown  and 
shoes,  but  they  were  not  of  gold;  they  were  only  tin 
and  gilding.  She  ordered  ornaments;  she  bought 
rings,  and  necklaces,  and  chains,  and  bracelets,  and 
diamond  suns  —  but  they  were  all  brass  and  glass; 
and  she  dressed  him  as  those  seeking  help  had 
dressed  the  true  image.  When  the  image  was  ready 
she  took  a  needle  and  scratched  in  the  crown :  "  My 
kingdom  is  only  of  this  world."  It  was  as  if  she 
was  afraid  that  she  herself  would  not  be  able  to 
distinguish  one  image  from  the  other.  And  it  was 
as  if  she  had  wished  to  appease  her  own  conscience. 
"  I  have  not  wished  to  make  a  false  Christ  image. 
I  have  written  in  his  crown:  '  My  kingdom  is  only 
of  this  world. '  " 

Thereupon  she  wrapped  herself  in  a  big  cloak, 
hid  the  image  under  it,  and  went  up  to  Aracoeli. 
And  she  asked  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  say  her 
prayers  before  the  Christchild. 

When  she  stood  in  the  sanctuary,  and  the  candles 
were  lighted,  and  the  iron  door  opened,  and  the 
image  showed  itself  to  her,  she  began  to  tremble 
and  shake  and  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint. 
The  monk  who  was  with  her  hurried  into  the  sacristy 
after  water  and  she  was  left  alone  in  the  chapel. 
And  when  he  came  back  she  had  committed  the 
sacrilege.  She  had  exchanged  the  holy,  miracle- 
working  image,  and  put  the  false  and  impotent  one 
in  his  place. 

The   monk   saw   nothing.     He  shut    in  the  false 


ROME'S  HOLY  CHILD  15 

image  behind  iron  doors  and  double  locks,  and  the 
Englishwoman  went  home  with  the  treasure  of 
Aracoeli.  She  placed  him  in  her  palace  on  a 
pedestal  of  marble  and  was  more  happy  than  she 
had  ever  been  before. 

Up  on  Aracoeli,  where  no  one  knew  what  injury 
they  had  suffered,  they  worshipped  the  false  Christ 
image  as  they  had  worshipped  the  true  one,  and 
when  Christmas  came  they  built  for  him  in  the 
church,  as  was  the  custom,  a  most  beautiful  niche. 
There  he  lay,  shining  like  a  jewel,  on  Maria's 
knees,  and  about  him  shepherds  and  angels  and  wise 
men  were  arranged.  And  as  long  as  he  lay  there 
children  came  from  Rome,  and  the  Campagna,  and 
were  lifted  up  on  a  little  pulpit  in  the  basilica  of 
Aracoeli,  and  they  preached  on  the  sweetness  and 
tenderness  and  nobleness  and  power  of  the  little 
Christchild. 

But  the  Englishwoman  lived  in  great  terror  that 
some  one  would  discover  that  she  had  stolen  the 
Christ  image  of  Aracoeli.  Therefore  she  confessed 
to  no  one  that  the  image  she  had  was  the  real  one. 
"It  is  a  copy,"  she  said;  "it  is  as  like  the  real  one 
as  it  can  be,  but  it  is  only  copied." 

Now  it  happened  that  she  had  a  little  Italian  ser- 
vant girl.  One  day  when  the  latter  went  through 
the  room  she  stopped  before  the  image  and  spoke 
to  him.  "You  poor  Christchild,  who  are  no  Christ- 
child,"  she  said,  "if  you  only  knew  how  the  real 
child  lies  in  his  glory  in  the  niche  in  Aracoeli  and 
how  Maria  and  San  Guiseppe  and  the  shepherds  are 
kneeling  before  him!  And  if  you  knew  how  the 
children  place  themselves  on  a  little  pulpit  just  in 
front  of  him,  and  how  they  courtesy,  and  kiss  their 


1 6  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

fingers  to  him,  and  preach  for  him  as  beautifully  as 
they  can ! " 

A  few  days  after  the  little  maid  came  again  and 
spoke  to  the  image.  "You  poor  Christchild,  who 
are  no  Christchild,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  that 
to-day  I  have  been  up  in  Aracoeli  and  have  seen 
how  the  true  child  was  carried  in  the  procession? 
They  held  a  canopy  over  him,  all  the  people  fell  on 
their  knees,  and  they  sang  and  played  before  him. 
Never  will  you  see  anything  so  wonderful!" 

And  mark  that  a  few  days  later  the  little  maid 
came  again  and  spoke  to  the  image :  "  Do  you  know, 
Christchild,  who  are  not  a  real  Christchild,  that  it 
is  better  for  you  to  stand  where  you  are  standing? 
For  the  real  child  is  called  to  the  sick  and  is  driven 
to  them  in  his  gold-laced  carriage,  but  he  cannot 
help  them  and  they  die  in  despair.  And  people 
begin  to  say  that  Aracoeli's  holy  child  has  lost  his 
power  to  do  good,  and  that  prayers  and  tears  do  not 
move  him.  It  is  better  for  you  to  stand  where  you 
are  standing  than  to  be  called  upon  and  not  to  be 
able  to  help." 

But  the  next  night  a  miracle  came  to  pass.  About 
midnight  a  loud  ringing  was  heard  at  the  cloister 
gate  at  Aracoeli.  And  when  the  gate-keeper  did  not 
come  quickly  enough  to  open,  some  one  began  to 
knock.  It  sounded  clear,  like  ringing  metal,  and  it 
was  heard  through  the  whole  monastery.  All  the 
monks  leaped  from  their  beds.  All  who  had  been 
tortured  by  terrible  dreams  rose  at  one  time,  and 
believed  that  Antichrist  was  come. 

But  when  they  opened  the  door  —  when  they 
opened  it!  It  was  the  little  Christ  image  that  stood 
on  the  threshold.  It  was  his  little  hand  that  had 


ROME'S  HOLY  CHILD  \7 

pulled  the  bell-rope;  it  was  his  little,  gold-shod  foot 
that  had  been  stretched  out  to  kick  the  door. 

The  gate-keeper  instantly  took  the  holy  child  up 
in  his  arms.  Then  he  saw  that  it  had  tears  in  its 
eyes.  Alas,  the  poor,  holy  child  had  wandered 
through  the  town  by  night!  What  had  it  not  seen? 
So  much  poverty  and  so  much  want ;  so  much  wicked- 
ness and  so  many  crimes  !  It  was  terrible  to  think 
what  it  must  have  experienced. 

The  gate-keeper  went  immediately  to  the  prior 
and  showed  him  the  image.  And  they  wondered 
how  it  had  come  out  into  the  night. 

Then  the  prior  had  the  church  bells  rung  to  call 
the  monks  to  the  service.  And  all  the  monks  of 
Aracoeli  marched  into  the  great,  dim  basilica  in 
order  to  place  the  image,  with  all  solemnity,  back 
in  its  shrine. 

Worn  and  suffering,  they  walked  and  trembled  in 
their  heavy  homespun  robes.  Several  of  them  were 
weeping,  as  if  they  had  escaped  from  some  terrible 
danger.  "What  would  have  happened  to  us,"  they 
said,  "  if  our  only  consolation  had  been  taken  from 
us?  Is  it  not  Antichrist  who  has  tempted  out 
Rome's  holy  child  from  the  sheltering  sanctuary?  " 

But  when  they  came  to  set  the  Christ  image  in 
the  shrine  of  the  chapel,  they  found  there  the  false 
child;  him  who  wore  the  inscription  on  his  crown: 
"My  kingdom  is  only  of  this  world." 

And  when  they  examined  the  image  more  closely 
they  found  the  inscription. 

Then  the  prior  turned  to  the  monks  and  spoke  to 
them :  — 

"Brothers,  we  will  sing  the  '  Te  Deum, '  and 
cover  the  pillars  of  the  church  with  silk,  and  light 


1 8  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

all  the  wax  candles,  and  all  the  hanging  lamps,  and 
we  will  celebrate  a  great  festival. 

"  As  long  as  the  monastery  has  stood  it  has  been 
a  home  of  terror  and  a  cursed  dwelling;  but  for  the 
suffering  of  all  those  who  have  lived  here,  God  has 
been  gracious.  And  now  all  danger  is  over. 

"God  has  crowned  the  fight  with  victory,  and  this 
that  you  have  seen  is  the  sign  that  Antichrist 
shall  not  be  worshipped  on  the  Capitol. 

"  For  in  order  that  the  sibyl's  words  should  be  car- 
ried out,  God  has  sent  this  false  image  of  Christ  that 
bears  the  words  of  Antichrist  in  its  crown,  and  he 
has  allowed  us  to  worship  and  adore  him  as  if  he  had 
been  the  great  miracle-worker. 

"  But  now  we  can  rest  in  joy  and  peace,  for  the 
sibyl's  mystic  speech  is  fulfilled,  and  Antichrist  has 
been  worshipped  here. 

"  Great  is  God,  the  Almighty,  who  has  let  our 
cruel  fear  be  dispelled,  and  who  has  carried  out 
His  will  without  the  world  needing  to  gaze  upon 
the  false  image  made  by  man. 

"  Happy  is  the  monastery  of  Aracoeli  that  rests 
under  the  protection  of  God,  and  does  His  will,  and 
is  blessed  by  His  abounding  grace." 

When  the  prior  had  said  those  words  he  took  the 
false  image  in  his  hands,  went  through  the  church, 
and  opened  the  great  door.  Thence  he  walked  out 
on  the  terrace.  Below  him  lay  the  high  and  broad 
stairway  with  its  hundred  and  nineteen  marble  steps 
that  leads  down  from  the  Capitol  as  if  into  an  abyss. 
And  he  raised  the  image  over  his  head  and  cried 
aloud:  "Anathema  Antikristo!"  and  hurled  him 
from  the  summit  of  the  Capitol  down  into  the 
world. 


ON  THE  BARRICADE  19 


III 
ON  THE  BARRICADE 

WHEN  the  rich  Englishwoman  awoke  in  the  morning 
she  missed  the  image  and  wondered  where  she 
should  look  for  him.  She  believed  that  no  one  but 
the  monks  of  Aracoeli  could  have  taken  him,  and 
she  hurried  towards  the  Capitol  to  spy  and  search. 

She  came  to  the  great  marble  staircase  that  leads 
up  to  the  basilica  of  Aracoeli.  And  her  heart  beat 
wildly  with  joy,  for  on  the  lowest  step  lay  he  whom 
she  sought.  She  seized  the  image,  threw  her  cloak 
about  him,  and  hurried  home.  And  she  put  him 
back  on  his  place  of  honor. 

But  as  she  now  sank  into  contemplation  of  his 
beauty,  she  found  that  the  crown  had  been  dented. 
She  lifted  it  off  the  image  to  see  how  great  the 
damage  was,  and  at  the  same  moment  her  eyes  fell 
on  the  inscription  that  she  herself  had  scratched : 
"  My  kingdom  is  only  of  this  world." 

Then  she  knew  that  this  was  the  false  Christ 
image,  and  that  the  right  one  had  returned  to 
Aracoeli. 

She  despaired  of  ever  again  getting  it  into  her 
possession,  and  she  decided  to  leave  Rome  the  next 
day,  for  she  would  not  remain  there  when  she  no 
longer  had  the  image. 

But  when  she  left  she  took  the  forged  image 
with  her,  because  he  reminded  her  of  the  one  she 


20  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

loved,  and  he  followed  her  afterwards  on  all  her 
journeys. 

She  was  never  at  rest  and  travelled  continually, 
and  in  that  way  the  image  was  carried  about  over  the 
whole  world. 

And  wherever  the  image  came,  the  power  of 
Christ  seemed  to  be  diminished  without  any  one 
rightly  understanding  why.  For  nothing  could 
look  more  impotent  than  that  poor  image  of  elm 
wood,  dressed  out  in  brass  rings  and  glass  beads. 

When  the  rich  Englishwoman  who  had  first  owned 
the  image  was  dead,  he  came  as  an  inheritance  to 
another  rich  Englishwoman,  who  also  travelled  con- 
tinually, and  from  her  to  a  third. 

Once,  and  it  was  still  in  the  time  of  the  first 
Englishwoman,  the  image  came  to  Paris. 

As  he  passed  through  the  great  city  there  was 
an  insurrection.  Crowds  rushed  wildly  screaming 
through  the  streets  and  cried  for  bread.  They 
plundered  the  shops  and  threw  stones  at  the  houses 
of  the  rich.  Troops  were  called  out  against  them, 
and  then  they  tore  up  the  stones  of  the  street, 
dragged  together  carriages  and  furniture,  and  built 
barricades. 

As  the  rich  Englishwoman  came  driving  in  her 
great  travelling-carriage,  the  mass  of  people  rushed 
towards  it,  forced  her  to  leave  it,  and  dragged  the 
carriage  up  to  one  of  the  barricades. 

When  they  tried  to  roll  the  carriage  up  among  all 
the  thousand  things  of  which  the  barricade  con- 
sisted, one  of  the  big  trunks  fell  to  the  ground. 
The  cover  sprang  open,  and  among  other  things  out 
rolled  the  rejected  Christ  image. 

The  people  threw  themselves  upon  him  to  plunder, 


ON   THE  BARRICADE  21 

but  they  soon  saw  that  all  his  grandeur  was  imita- 
tion and  quite  worthless,  and  they  began  to  laugh  at 
him  and  mock  him. 

He  went  from  hand  to  hand  among  the  agitators, 
until  one  of  them  bent  forward  to  look  at  his  crown. 
His  eyes  were  attracted  by  the  words  which  stood 
scratched  there:  "My  kingdom  is  only  of  this 
world." 

The  man  called  this  out  quite  loudly,  and  they 
all  screamed  that  the  little  image  should  be  their 
badge.  They  carried  him  up  to  the  summit  of  the 
barricade  and  placed  him  there  like  a  banner. 

Among  those  who  defended  the  barricade  was  one 
man  who  was  not  a  poor  working-man,  but  a  man  of 
education,  who  had  passed  his  whole  life  in  study. 
He  knew  all  the  want  that  tortured  mankind,  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  sympathy,  so  that  he  continually 
sought  means  to  better  their  lot.  For  thirty  years 
he  had  written  and  thought  without  finding  any 
remedy.  Now  on  hearing  the  alarm  bell  he  had 
obeyed  it  and  rushed  into  the  streets. 

He  had  seized  a  weapon  and  gone  with  the  insur- 
gents with  the  thought  that  the  riddle  which  he  had 
been  unable  to  solve  should  now  be  made  clear  by 
violence  and  force,  and  that  the  poor  should  be  able 
to  fight  their  way  to  a  better  lot. 

There  he  stood  the  whole  day  and  fought ;  and 
people  fell  about  him,  blood  splashed  up  into  his 
face,  and  the  misery  of  life  seemed  to  him  greater 
and  more  deplorable  than  ever  before. 

But  whenever  the  smoke  cleared  away,  the  little 
image  shone  before  his  eyes;  through  all  the  tumult 
of  the  fight  it  stood  unmoved  high  up  on  the 
barricade. 


22  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Every  time  he  saw  the  image  the  words  "My 
kingdom  is  only  of  this  world  "  flashed  through  his 
brain.  At  last  he  thought  that  the  words  wrote 
themselves  in  the  air  and  began  to  wave  before  his 
eyes,  now  in  fire,  now  in  blood,  now  in  smoke. 

He  stood  still.  He  stood  there  with  gun  in  hand, 
but  he  had  stopped  fighting.  Suddenly  he  knew 
that  this  was  the  word  that  he  had  sought  after  all 
his  life.  He  knew  what  he  would  say  to  the  people, 
and  it  was  the  poor  image  that  had  given  him  the 
solution. 

He  would  go  out  into  the  whole  world  and  pro- 
claim:  "Your  kingdom  is  only  of  this  world. 

"Therefore you  must  care  for  this  life  and  live  like 
brothers.  And  you  shall  divide  your  property  so 
that  no  one  is  rich  and  no  one  poor.  You  shall  all 
work,  and  the  earth  shall  be  owned  by  all,  and  you 
shall  all  be  equal. 

"No  one  shall  hunger,  no  one  shall  be  tempted 
to  luxury,  and  no  one  shall  suffer  want  in  his  old 
age. 

"And  you  must  think  of  increasing  every  one's 
happiness,  for  there  is  no  compensation  awaiting 
you.  Your  kingdom  is  only  of  this  world." 

All  this  passed  through  his  brain  while  he  stood 
on  the  barricade,  and  when  the  thought  became  clear 
to  him,  he  laid  down  his  weapon,  and  did  not  lift  it 
again  for  strife  and  the  shedding  of  blood. 

A  moment  later  the  barricade  was  stormed  and 
taken.  The  victorious  troops  dashed  through  and 
quelled  the  insurrection,  and  before  night  order 
and  peace  reigned  in  the  great  city. 

The  Englishwoman  sent  out  her  servants  to  look 
for  her  lost  possessions,  and  they  found  many,  if  not 


(AV   THE  BARRICADE  2$ 

all.  What  they  found  first  of  all  on  the  captured 
barricade  was  the  image  ejected  from  Aracoeli. 

But  the  man  who  had  been  taught  during  the  fight 
by  the  image  began  to  proclaim  to  the  world  a  new 
doctrine,  which  is  called  Socialism,  but  which  is  an 
Antichristianity. 

And  it  loves,  and  renounces,  and  teaches,  and 
suffers  like  Christianity,  so  that  it  has  every  resem- 
blance to  the  latter,  just  as  the  false  image  from 
Aracoeli  has  every  resemblance  to  the  real  Christ 
image. 

And  like  the  false  image  it  says:  "  My  kingdom 
is  only  of  this  world." 

And  although  the  image  that  has  spread  abroad 
the  teachings  is  unnoticed  and  unknown,  the  teach- 
ings are  not ;  they  go  through  the  world  to  save  and 
remodel  it. 

They  are  spreading  from  day  to  day.  They  go 
out  through  all  countries,  and  bear  many  names, 
and  they  mislead  because  they  promise  earthly  hap- 
piness and  enjoyment  to  all,  and  win  followers  more 
than  any  doctrine  that  has  gone  through  the  world 
since  the  time  of  Christ. 


FIRST   BOOK 
"  There  shall  be  great  want** 


MONGIBELLO 

TOWARDS  the  end  of  the  seventies  there  was  in 
Palermo  a  poor  boy  whose  name  was  Gaetano  Ala- 
gona.  That  was  lucky  for  him !  If  he  had  not  been 
one  of  the  old  Alagonas  people  would  have  let  him 
starve  to  death.  He  was  only  a  child,  and  had 
neither  money  nor  parents.  The  Jesuits  of  Santa 
Maria  i  Jesu  had  taken  him  out  of  charity  into  the 
cloister  school. 

One  day,  when  studying  his  lesson,  a  father  came 
and  called  him  from  the  school-room,  because  a 
cousin  wished  to  see  him.  What,  a  cousin !  He 
had  always  heard  that  all  his  relatives  were  dead. 
But  Father  Josef  insisted  that  it  was  a  real  Signora, 
who  was  his  relative  and  wished  to  take  him  out  of 
the  monastery.  It  became  worse  and  worse.  Did 
she  want  to  take  him  out  of  the  monastery  ?  That 
she  could  never  do !  He  was  going  to  be  a  monk. 

He  did  not  at  all  wish  to  see  the  Signora.  Could 
not  Father  Josef  tell  her  that  Gaetano  would  never 
leave  the  monastery,  and  that  it  was  of  no  avail  to 


26  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

ask  him?  No,  Father  Josef  said  that  he  could  not 
let  her  depart  without  seeing  him,  and  he  half 
dragged  Gaetano  into  the  reception-room.  There 
she  stood  by  one  of  the  windows.  She  had  gray 
hair ;  her  skin  was  brown ;  her  eyes  were  black  and 
as  round  as  beads.  She  had  a  lace  veil  on  her 
head,  and  her  black  dress  was  smooth  with  wear, 
and  a  little  green,  like  Father  Josef's  very  oldest 
cassock. 

She  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  when  she  saw 
Gaetano.  "  God  be  praised,  he  is  a  true  Alagona ! " 
she  said,  and  kissed  his  hand. 

She  said  that  she  was  sorry  that  Gaetano  had 
reached  his  twelfth  year  without  any  of  his  family 
asking  after  him ;  but  she  had  not  known  that  there 
were  any  of  the  other  branch  alive.  How  had  she 
found  it  out  now?  Well,  Luca  had  read  the  name  in 
a  newspaper.  It  had  stood  among  those  who  had 
got  a  prize.  It  was  a  half-year  ago  now,  but  it  was 
a  long  journey  to  Palermo.  She  had  had  to  save 
and  save  to  get  the  money  for  the  journey.  She 
had  not  been  able  to  come  before.  But  she  had  to 
come  and  see  him.  Santissima  madre,  she  had  been 
so  glad!  It  was  she,  Donna  Elisa,  who  was  an 
Alagona.  Her  husband,  who  was  dead,  had  been  an 
Antonelli.  There  was  one  other  Alagona,  that  was 
her  brother.  He,  too,  lived  at  Diamante.  But 
Gaetano  probably  did  not  know  where  Diamante 
was.  The  boy  drew  his  head  back.  No;  she  thought 
as  much,  and  she  laughed. 

"Diamante  is  on  Monte  Chiaro.  Do  you  know 
where  Monte  Chiaro  is?" 

"No." 

She  drew  up  her  eyebrows  and  looked  very  roguish. 


MONGIBELLO  27 

"Monte  Chiaro  is  on  Etna,  if  you  know  where 
Etna  is." 

It  sounded  so  anxious,  as  if  it  were  too  much  to 
ask  that  Gaetano  should  know  anything  about  Etna. 
And  they  laughed,  all  three,  she  and  Father  Josef 
and  Gaetano. 

She  seemed  a  different  person  after  she  had  made 
them  laugh.  "Will  you  come  and  see  Diamante 
and  Etna  and  Monte  Chiaro  ? "  she  asked  briskly. 
"  Etna  you  must  see.  It  is  the  greatest  mountain 
in  the  world.  Etna  is  a  king,  and  the  mountains 
round  about  kneel  before  him,  and  do  not  dare  to  lift 
their  eyes  to  his  face." 

Then  she  told  many  tales  about  Etna.  She 
thought  perhaps  that  it  would  tempt  him. 

And  it  was  really  true  that  Gaetano  had  not 
thought  before  what  kind  of  a  mountain  Etna  was. 
He  had  not  remembered  that  it  had  snow  on  its 
head,  oak  forests  in  its  beard,  vineyards  about  its 
waist,  and  that  it  stood  in  orange  groves  up  to 
its  knees.  And  down  it  ran  broad,  black  rivers. 
Those  streams  were  wonderful ;  they  flowed  without 
a  ripple;  they  heaved  without  a  wind;  the  poorest 
swimmer  could  cross  them  without  a  bridge.  He 
guessed  that  she  meant  lava.  And  she  was  glad 
that  he  had  guessed  it.  He  was  a  clever  boy.  A 
real  Alagona ! 

And  Etna  was  so  big !  Fancy  that  it  took  three 
days  to  drive  round  it  and  three  days  to  ride  up  to 
the  top  and  down  again !  And  that  there  were  fifty 
towns  beside  Diamante  on  it,  and  fourteen  great 
forests,  and  two  hundred  small  peaks,  which  were  not 
so  small  either,  although  Etna  was  so  big  that  they 
seemed  as  insignificant  as  a  swarm  of  flies  on  a 


28  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

church  roof.  And  that  there  were  caves  which 
could  hold  a  whole  army,  and  hollow  old  trees, 
where  a  flock  of  sheep  could  find  shelter  from  the 
storm ! 

Everything  wonderful  was  to  be  found  on  Etna* 
There  were  rivers  of  which  one  must  beware.  The 
water  in  them  was  so  cold  that  any  one  who  drank  of 
it  would  die.  There  were  rivers  which  flowed  only  by 
day,  and  others  that  flowed  only  in  winter,  and  some 
which  ran  deep  under  the  earth.  There  were  hot 
springs,  and  sulphur  springs,  and  mud-volcanoes. 

It  would  be  a  pity  for  Gaetano  not  to  see  the 
mountain,  for  it  was  so  beautiful.  It  stood  against 
the  sky  like  a  great  tent.  It  was  as  gayly  colored 
as  a  merry-go-round.  He  ought  to  see  it  in  the 
morning  and  evening,  when  it  was  red ;  he  ought  to 
see  it  at  night,  when  it  was  white.  He  ought  also 
to  know  that  it  truly  could  take  every  color;  that  it 
could  be  blue,  black,  brown  or  violet ;  sometimes  it 
wore  a  veil  of  beauty,  like  a  signora;  sometimes 
it  was  a  table  covered  with  velvet;  sometimes  it  had 
a  tunic  of  gold  brocade  and  a  mantle  of  peacock' s- 
feathers. 

He  would  also  like  to  know  how  it  could  be  that 
old  King  Arthur  was  sitting  there  in  a  cave.  Donna 
Elisa  said  that  it  was  quite  certain  that  he  still 
lived  on  Etna,  for  once,  when  the  bishop  of  Catania 
was  riding  over  the  mountain,  three  of  his  mules  ran 
away,  and  the  men  who  followed  them  found  them  in 
the  cave  with  King  Arthur.  Then  the  king  asked 
the  guides  to  tell  the  bishop  that  when  his  wounds 
were  healed  he  would  come  with  his  knights  of  the 
Round  Table  and  right  everything  that  was  in  dis- 
order in  Sicily.  And  he  who  had  eyes  to  see  knew 


MONGIBELLO  29 

well  enough  that  King  Arthur  had  not  yet  come  out 
of  his  cave. 

Gaetano  did  not  wish  to  let  her  tempt  him,  but  he 
thought  that  he  might  be  a  little  friendly.  She  was 
still  standing,  but  now  he  fetched  her  a  chair. 
That  would  not  make  her  think  that  he  wanted  to 
go  with  her. 

He  really  liked  to  hear  her  tell  about  her  moun- 
tain. It  was  so  funny  that  it  should  have  so  many 
tricks.  It  was  not  at  all  like  Monte  Pellegrino, 
near  Palermo,  that  only  stood  where  it  stood.  Etna 
could  smoke  like  a  chimney  and  blow  out  fire  like 
a  gas  jet.  It  could  rumble,  shake,  vomit  forth 
lava,  throw  stones,  scatter  ashes,  foretell  the  weather, 
and  collect  rain.  If  Mongibello  merely  stirred,  town 
after  town  fell,  as  if  the  houses  had  been  cards  set 
on  end. 

Mongibello,  that  was  also  a  name  for  Etna.  It 
was  called  Mongibello  because  that  meant  the  moun- 
tain of  mountains.  It  deserved  to  be  called  so. 

Gaetano  saw  that  she  really  believed  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  resist.  She  had  so  many  wrinkles 
in  her  face,  and  when  she  laughed,  they  ran  to- 
gether like  a  net.  He  stood  and  looked  at  it;  it 
seemed  so  strange.  But  he  was  not  caught  yet  in 
the  net. 

She  wondered  if  Gaetano  really  would  have  the 
courage  to  come  to  Etna.  For  inside  the  mountain 
were  many  bound  giants  and  a  black  castle,  which 
was  guarded  by  a  dog  with  many  heads.  There  was 
also  a  big  forge  and  a  lame  smith  with  only  one  eye 
in  the  middle  of  his  forehead.  And  worst  of  all,  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  mountain,  there  was  a  sulphur 
sea  which  cooked  like  an  oil  kettle,  and  in  it  lay 


30  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Lucifer  and  all  the  damned.  No,  he  never  would 
have  the  courage  to  come  there,  she  said. 

Otherwise  there  was  no  danger  in  living  there,  for 
the  mountain  feared  the  saints.  Donna  Elisa  said 
that  it  feared  many  saints,  but  most  Santa  Agata  of 
Catania.  If  the  Catanians  always  were  as  they 
should  be  to  her,  then  neither  earthquake  nor  lava 
could  do  them  any  harm. 

Gaetano  stood  quite  close  to  her  and  he  laughed 
at  everything  she  said.  How  had  he  come  there  and 
why  could  he  not  stop  laughing  ?  It  was  a  wonder- 
ful signora. 

Suddenly  he  said,  in  order  not  to  deceive  her, 
"Donna  Elisa,  I  am  going  to  be  a  monk."  —  "Oh, 
are  you?"  she  said.  Then  without  anything  more 
she  began  again  to  tell  about  the  mountain. 

She  said  that  now  he  must  really  listen;  now  she 
was  coming  to  the  most  important  of  all.  He  was 
to  fellow  her  to  the  south  side  of  the  mountain  so  far 
down  that  they  were  near  the  castle  of  Catania,  and 
there  he  would  see  a  valley,  a  quite  big  and  wide 
oval  valley.  But  it  was  quite  black ;  the  lava  streams 
came  from  all  directions  flowing  down  into  it. 
There  were  only  stones  there,  not  a  blade  of  grass. 

But  what  had  Gaetano  believed  about  the  lava? 
Donna  Elisa  was  sure  that  he  believed  that  it  lay  as 
even  and  smooth  on  Etna  as  it  lies  in  the  streets. 
But  on  Etna  there  are  so  many  surprises.  Could  he 
understand  that  all  the  serpents  and  dragons  and 
witches  that  lay  and  boiled  in  the  lava  ran  out  with 
it  when  there  was  an  eruption  ?  There  they  lay  and 
crawled  and  crept  and  twisted  about  each  other,  and 
tried  to  creep  up  to  the  cold  earth,  and  held  each 
other  fast  in  misery  until  the  lava  hardened  about 


MONGIBELLO  3» 

them.     And  then  they  could  never  come  free.     No 
indeed ! 

The  lava  was  not  unproductive,  as  he  thought. 
Although  no  grass  grew,  there  was  always  some- 
thing to  see.  But  he  could  never  guess  what  it  was. 
It  groped  and  fell;  it  tumbled  and  crept;  it  moved 
on  its  knees,  on  its  head,  and  on  its  elbows.  It  came 
up  the  sides  of  the  valley  and  down  the  sides  of  the 
valley ;  it  was  all  thorns  and  knots ;  it  had  a  cloak 
of  spider 's-web  and  a  wig  of  dust,  and  as  many 
joints  as  a  worm.  Could  it  be  anything  but  the 
cactus  ?  Did  he  know  that  the  cactus  goes  out  on 
the  lava  and  breaks  the  ground  like  a  peasant?  Did 
he  know  that  nothing  but  the  cactus  can  do  anything 
with  the  lava? 

Now  she  looked  at  Father  Josef  and  made  a  funny 
face.  The  cactus  was  the  best  goblin  to  be  found 
on  Etna;  but  goblins  were  goblins.  The  cactus 
was  a  Turk,  for  it  kept  female  slaves.  No  sooner 
had  the  cactus  taken  root  anywhere  than  it  must 
have  almond  trees  near  it.  Almond  trees  are  fine 
and  shining  signoras.  They  hardly  dare  to  go  out 
on  the  black  surface,  but  that  does  not  help  them. 
Out  they  must,  and  out  they  are.  Oh,  Gaetano 
should  see  if  he  came  there.  When  the  almond 
trees  stand  white  with  their  blossoms  in  the  spring 
on  the  black  field  among  the  gray  cacti,  they  are  so 
innocent  and  beautiful  that  one  could  weep  over 
them  as  over  captive  princesses. 

Now  he  must  know  where  Monte  Chiaro  lay.  It 
shot  up  from  the  bottom  of  that  black  valley.  She 
tried  to  make  her  umbrella  stand  on  the  floor.  It 
stood  so.  It  stood  right  up.  It  had  never  thought 
of  either  sitting  or  lying.  And  Monte  Chiaro  was 


32  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

as  green  as  the  valley  was  black.  It  was  palm  next 
palm,  vine  upon  vine.  It  was  a  gentleman  in  a 
flowery  dressing-gown.  It  was  a  king  with  a  crown 
on  his  head.  It  bore  the  whole  of  Diamante  about 
its  temples. 

Some  time  before  Gaetano  had  a  desire  to  take 
her  hand.  If  he  only  could  do  it.  Yes,  he  could. 
He  drew  her  hand  to  him  like  a  captured  treasure. 
But  what  should  he  do  with  it?  Perhaps  pat  it.  If 
he  tried  quite  gently  with  one  ringer,  perhaps  -she 
would  not  notice  it.  Perhaps  she  would  not  notice 
if  he  took  two  fingers.  Perhaps  she  would  not  even 
notice  if  he  should  kiss  her  hand.  She  talked  and 
talked.  She  noticed  nothing  at  all. 

There  was  still  so  much  she  wished  to  say.  And 
nothing  so  droll  as  her  story  about  Diamante ! 

She  said  that  the  town  had  once  lain  down  on  the 
bottom  of  the  valley.  Then  the  lava  came,  and  fiery 
red  looked  over  the  edge  of  the  valley.  What,  what ! 
was  the  last  day  come?  The  town  in  great  haste 
took  its  houses  on  its  back,  on  its  head,  and  under 
its  arms,  and  ran  up  Monte  Chiaro,  that  lay  close  at 
hand. 

Zigzagging  up  the  mountain  the  town  ran.  When 
it  was  far  enough  up  it  threw  down  a  town  g?te  and 
a  piece  of  town  wall.  Then  it  ran  round  the  moun- 
tain in  a  spiral  and  dropped  down  houses.  The 
poor  people's  houses  tumbled  as  they  could  and 
would.  There  was  no  time  for  anything  else.  No 
one  could  ask  anything  better  than  crowding  and 
disorder  and  crooked  streets.  No,  that  you  could 
not.  The  chief  street  went  in  a  spiral  round  the 
mountain,  just  as  the  town  had  run,  and  along  it  had 
set  down  here  a  church  and  there  a  palace.  But 


MONGIBELLO  33 

there  had  been  that  much  order  that  the  best  came 
highest  up.  When  the  town  came  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain  it  had  laid  out  a  square,  and  there  it  had 
placed  the  city  hall  and  the  Cathedral  and  the  old 
palazzo  Geraci. 

If  he,  Gaetano  Alagona,  would  follow  her  to 
Diamante,  she  would  take  him  with  her  up  to  the 
square  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  show  him 
what  stretches  of  land  the  old  Alagonas  had  owned 
on  Etna,  and  on  the  plain  of  Catania,  and  where  they 
had  raised  their  strongholds  on  the  inland  peaks. 
For  up  there  all  that  could  be  seen,  and  even  more. 
One  could  see  the  whole  sea. 

Gaetano  had  not  thought  that  she  had  talked  long, 
but  Father  Josef  seemed  to  be  impatient.  "Now 
we  have  come  to  your  own  home,  Donna  Elisa,"  he 
said  quite  gently. 

But  she  assured  Father  Josef  that  at  her  house 
there  was  nothing  to  see.  What  she  first  of  all 
wished  to  show  Gaetano  was  the  big  house  on  the 
corso,  that  was  called  the  summer  palace.  It  was 
not  so  beautiful  as  the  palazzo  Geraci,  but  it  was 
big;  and  when  the  old  Alagonas  were  prosperous 
they  came  there  in  summer  to  be  nearer  the  snows 
of  Etna.  Yes,  as  she  said,  towards  the  street  it  was 
nothing  to  see,  but  it  had  a  beautiful  court-yard 
with  open  porticos  in  both  the  stories.  And  on  the 
roof  there  was  a  terrace.  It  was  paved  with  blue 
and  white  tiles,  and  on  every  tile  the  coat  of  arms 
of  the  Alagonas  was  burnt  in.  He  would  like  to 
come  and  see  that? 

It  occurred  to  Gaetano  that  Donna  Elisa  must  be 
used  to  having  children  come  and  sit  on  her  knees 
when  she  was  at  home.  Perhaps  she  would  not 

3 


34  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

notice  if  he  should  also  come.  And  he  tried.  And 
so  it  was.  She  was  used  to  it.  She  never  noticed 
it  at  all. 

She  only  went  on  talking  about  the  palace.  There 
was  a  great  state  suite,  where  the  old  Alagonas  had 
danced  and  played.  There  was  a  great  hall  with  a 
gallery  for  the  music;  there  was  old  furniture  and 
clocks  like  small  white  alabaster  temples  that  stood 
on  black  ebony  pedestals.  In  the  state  apartment 
no  one  lived,  but  she  would  go  there  with  him. 
Perhaps  he  had  thought  that  she  lived  in  the  sum- 
mer palace.  Oh,  no;  her  brother,  Don  Ferrante, 
lived  there.  He  was  a  merchant,  and  had  his  shop 
on  the  lower  floor;  and  as  he  had  not  yet  brought 
home  a  signora,  everything  stood  up  there  as  it  had 
stood. 

Gaetano  wondered  if  he  could  sit  on  her  knees  any 
longer.  It  was  wonderful  that  she  did  not  notice 
anything.  And  it  was  fortunate,  for  otherwise  she 
might  have  believed  that  he  had  changed  his  mind 
about  being  a  monk. 

But  she  was  just  now  more  than  ever  occupied 
with  her  own  affairs.  A  little  flush  flamed  up  in 
her  cheeks  under  all  the  brown,  and  she  made  a  few 
of  the  funniest  faces  with  her  eyebrows.  Then  she 
began  to  tell  how  she  herself  lived. 

It  seemed  as  if  Donna  Elisa  must  have  the  very 
smallest  house  in  the  town.  It  lay  opposite  the 
summer  palace,  but  that  was  its  only  good  point. 
She  had  a  little  shop,  where  she  sold  medallions 
and  wax  candles  and  everything  that  had  to  do  with 
divine  service.  But,  with  all  respect  to  Father 
Josef,  there  was  not  much  profit  in  such  a  trade 
now-a-days,  however  it  may  have  been  formerly. 


MONGIBELLO  35 

Behind  the  shop  there  was  a  little  workshop.  There 
her  husband  had  stood  and  carved  images  of  the 
saints,  and  rosary  beads ;  for  he  had  been  an  artist, 
Signer  Antonelli.  And  next  to  the  workshop  were 
a  couple  of  small  rat-holes;  it  was  impossible  to 
turn  in  them;  one  had  to  squat  down,  as  in  the  cells 
of  the  old  kings.  And  up  one  flight  were  a  couple 
of  small  hen-coops.  In  one  of  them  she  had  laid  a 
little  straw  and  put  up  a  few  hooks.  That  would  be 
for  Gaetano,  if  he  would  come  to  her. 

Gaetano  thought  that  he  would  like  to  pat  her 
cheek.  She  would  be  sorry  when  he  could  not  go 
with  her.  Perhaps  he  could  permit  himself  to  pat 
her.  He  looked  under  his  hair  at  Father  Josef. 
Father  Josef  sat  and  looked  on  the  floor  and  sighed, 
as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  did  not  think 
of  Gaetano,  and  she,  she  noticed  nothing  at  all. 

She  said  that  she  had  a  maid,  whose  name  was 
Pacifica,  and  a  man,  whose  name  was  Luca.  She 
did  not  get  much  help,  however,  for  Pacifica  was 
old ;  and,  since  she  had  grown  deaf,  she  had  be- 
come so  irritable  that  she  could  not  let  her  help 
in  the  shop.  And  Luca,  who  really  was  to  have 
been  a  wood-carver,  and  carve  saints  that  she  could 
sell,  never  gave  himself  time  to  stand  still  in  the 
workshop;  he  was  always  out  in  the  garden,  looking 
after  the  flowers.  Yes,  they  had  a  little  garden 
among  the  stones  on  Monte  Chiaro.  But  he  need 
not  think  it  was  worth  anything.  She  had  nothing 
like  the  one  in  the  cloister,  that  Gaetano  would 
understand.  But  she  wanted  so  much  to  have  him, 
because  he  was  one  of  the  old  Alagonas.  And  there 
at  home  she  and  Luca  and  Pacifica  had  said  to  one 
another:  "Do  we  ask  whether  we  will  have  a  little 


36  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

more  care,  if  we  can  only  get  him  here? "  No,  the 
Madonna  knew  that  they  had  not  done  so.  But  now 
the  question  was,  whether  he  was  willing  to  endure 
anything  to  be  with  them. 

And  now  she  had  finished,  and  Father  Josef  asked 
what  Gaetano  thought  of  answering.  It  was  the 
yrior"s  wish,  Father  Josef  said,  that  Gaetano  should 
decide  for  himself.  And  they  had  nothing  against 
his  going  out  into  the  world,  because  he  was  the 
last  of  his  race. 

Gaetano  slid  gently  down  from  Donna  Elisa's  lap. 
But  to  answer!  That  was  not  such  an  easy  thing  to 
answer.  It  was  very  hard  to  say  no  to  the  signora. 

Father  Josef  came  to  his  assistance.  "Ask  the 
signora  that  you  may  be  allowed  to  answer  in  a 
couple  of  hours,  Gaetano.  The  boy  has  never 
thought  of  anything  but  being  a  monk,"  he  explained 
to  Donna  Elisa. 

She  stood  up,  took  her  umbrella,  and  tried  to  look 
glad,  but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Of  course,  of  course  he  must  consider  it,  she  said. 
But  if  he  had  known  Diamante  he  would  not  have 
needed  to.  Now  only  peasants  lived  there,  but  once 
tfiere  had  been  a  bishop,  and  many  priests,  and  a 
Inultitude  of  monks.  They  were  gone  now,  but  they 
tvere  not  forgotten.  Ever  since  that  time  Diamante 
was  a  holy  town.  More  festival  days  were  celebrated 
there  than  anywhere  else,  and  there  were  quantities 
of  saints ;  and  even  to-day  crowds  of  pilgrims  came 
there.  Whoever  lived  at  Diamante  could  never 
forget  God.  He  was  almost  half  a  priest.  So  for 
that  reason  he  ought  to  come.  But  he  should  con- 
sider it,  if  he  so  wished.  She  would  come  again 
to-morrow. 


MONGIBELLO  37 

Gaetano  behaved  himself  very  badly.  He  turned 
away  from  her  and  rushed  to  the  door.  He  did  not 
say  a  word  of  thanks  to  her  for  coming.  He  knew 
that  Father  Josef  had  expected  it,  but  he  could  not. 
When  he  thought  of  the  great  Mongibello  that  he 
never  would  see,  and  of  Donna  Elisa,  who  would 
never  come  again,  and  of  the  school,  and  of  the 
shut-in  cloister  garden,  and  of  a  whole  restricted 
life!  Father  Josef  never  could  expect  so  much  of 
him ;  Gaetano  had  to  run  away. 

It  was  high  time  too.  When  Gaetano  was  ten 
steps  from  the  door,  he  began  to  cry.  It  was  too 
bad  about  Donna  Elisa.  Oh,  that  she  should  be 
obliged  to  travel  home  alone!  That  Gaetano  could 
not  go  with  her! 

He  heard  Father  Josef  coming,  and  he  hid  his 
face  against  the  wall.  If  he  could  only  stop 
sobbing! 

Father  Josef  came  sighing  and  murmuring  to 
himself,  as  he  always  did.  When  he  came  up  to 
Gaetano  he  stopped,  and  sighed  more  than  ever. 

"It  is  Mongibello,  Mongibello,"  said  Father 
Josef;  "no  one  can  resist  Mongibello." 

Gaetano  answered  him  by  weeping  more  violently. 

"It  is  the  mountain  calling,"  murmured  Father 
Josef.  "Mongibello  is  like  the  whole  earth;  it  has 
all  the  earth's  beauty  and  charm  and  vegetation  and 
expanses  and  wonders.  The  whole  earth  comes  at 
once  and  calls  him." 

Gaetano  felt  that  Father  Josef  spoke  the  truth. 
He  felt  as  if  the  earth  stretched  out  strong  arms  to 
catch  him.  He  felt  that  he  needed  to  bind  himself 
fast  to  the  wall  in  order  not  to  be  torn  away. 

"  It  is  better  for  him  to  see  the  earth,"  said  Father 


38  THE  MIRA-CLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Josef.  "He  would  only  be  longing  for  it  if  he 
stayed  in  the  monastery.  If  he  is  allowed  to  see 
the  earth  perhaps  he  will  begin  again  to  long  for 
heaven. " 

Gaetano  did  not  understand  what  Father  Josef 
meant  when  he  felt  himself  lifted  into  his  arms, 
carried  back  into  the  reception-room,  and  put  down 
on  Donna  Elisa's  knees. 

"You  shall  take  him,  Donna  Elisa,  since  you 
have  won  him,"  said  Father  Josef.  "You  shall 
show  him  Mongibello,  and  you  shall  see  if  you  can 
keep  him." 

But  when  Gaetano  once  more  sat  on  Donna  Elisa's 
lap  he  felt  such  happiness  that  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  run  away  from  her  again.  He  was  as 
much  captured  as  if  he  had  gone  into  Mongibello 
and  the  mountain  walls  had  closed  in  on  him. 


GAETANO  39 


II 

FRA  GAETANO 

GAETANO  had  lived  with  Donna  Elisa  a  month,  and 
had  been  as  happy  as  a  child  can  be.  Merely  to 
travel  with  Donna  Elisa  had  been  like  driving 
behind  gazelles  and  birds  of  paradise;  but  to  live 
with  her  was  to  be  carried  on  a  golden  litter,  screened 
from  the  sun. 

Then  the  famous  Franciscan,  Father  Gondo,  came 
to  Diamante,  and  Donna  Elisa  and  Gaetano  went  up 
to  the  square  to  listen  to  him.  For  Father  Gondo 
never  preached  in  a  church ;  he  always  gathered  the 
people  about  him  by  fountains  or  at  the  town  gates. 

The  square  was  swarming  with  people ;  but  Gaetano, 
who  sat  on  the  railing  of  the  court-house  steps, 
plainly  saw  Father  Gondo  where  he  stood  on  the 
curb-stone.  He  wondered  if  it  could  be  true  that 
the  monk  wore  a  horse-hair  shirt  under  his  robes, 
and  that  the  rope  that  he  had  about  his  waist  was  full 
of  knots  and  iron  points  to  serve  him  as  a  scourge. 

Gaetano  could  not  understand  what  Father  Gondo 
said,  but  one  shiver  after  another  ran  through  him 
at  the  thought  that  he  was  looking  at  a  saint. 

When  the  Father  had  spoken  for  about  an  hour,  he 
made  a  sign  with  his  hand  that  he  would  like  to  rest 
a  moment.  He  stepped  down  from  the  steps  of  the 
fountain,  sat  down,  and  rested  his  face  in  his  hands. 
While  the  monk  was  sitting  so,  Gaetano  heard  a 


40  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

gentle  roaring.  He  had  never  before  heard  any 
like  it.  He  looked  about  him  to  discover  what  it 
was.  And  it  was  all  the  people  talking.  "  Blessed, 
blessed,  blessed ! "  they  all  said  at  once.  Most  of 
them  only  whispered  and  murmured;  none  called 
aloud,  their  devotion  was  too  great.  And  every  one 
had  found  the  same  word.  "  Blessed,  blessed  1 " 
sounded  over  the  whole  market-place.  "Blessings 
on  thy  lips;  blessings  on  thy  tongue;  blessings  on 
thy  heart ! " 

The  voices  sounded  soft,  choked  by  weeping  and 
emotion,  but  it  was  as  if  a  storm  had  passed  by 
through  the  air.  It  was  like  the  murmuring  of  a 
thousand  shells. 

That  took  much  greater  hold  of  Gaetano  than  the 
monk's  sermon.  He  did  not  know  what  he  wished 
to  do,  for  that  gentle  murmuring  filled  him  with 
emotion;  it  seemed  almost  to  suffocate  him.  He 
climbed  up  on  the  iron  railing,  raised  himself  above 
all  the  others,  and  began  to  cry  the  same  as  they, 
but  much  louder,  so  that  his  voice  cut  through  all 
the  others. 

Donna  Elisa  heard  it  and  seemed  to  be  displeased. 
She  drew  Gaetano  down  and  would  not  stay  any 
longer,  but  went  home  with  him. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Gaetano  started  up 
from  his  bed.  He  put  on  his  clothes,  tied  together 
what  he  possessed  in  a  bundle,  set  his  hat  on  his 
head  and  took  his  shoes  under  his  arm.  He  was 
going  to  run  away.  He  could  not  bear  to  live  with 
Donna  Elisa. 

Since  he  had  heard  Father  Gondo,  Diamante  and 
Mongibello  were  nothing  to  him.  Nothing  was 
anything  compared  to  being  like  Father  Gondo,  and 


FRA   GAETANO  4 1 

being  blessed  by  the  people.  Gaetano  could  not 
live  if  he  could  not  sit  by  the  fountain  in  the  square 
and  tell  legends. 

But  if  Gaetano  went  on  living  in  Donna  Elisa's 
garden,  and  eating  peaches  and  mandarins,  he  would 
never  hear  the  great  human  sea  roar  about  him.  He 
must  go  out  and  be  a  hermit  on  Etna;  he  must 
dwell  in  one  of  the  big  caves,  and  live  on  roots  and 
fruits.  He  would  never  see  a  human  being;  he 
would  never  cut  his  hair;  and  he  would  wear  nothing 
but  a  few  dirty  rags.  But  in  ten  or  twenty  years  he 
would  come  back  to  the  world.  Then  he  would  look 
like  a  beast  and  speak  like  an  angel. 

That  would  be  another  matter  than  wearing  velvet 
clothes  and  a  glazed  hat,  as  he  did  now.  That  would 
be  different  from  sitting  in  the  shop  with  Donna 
Elisa  and  taking  saint  after  saint  down  from  the 
shelf  and  hearing  her  tell  about  what  they  had  done. 
Several  times  he  had  taken  a  knife  and  a  piece  of 
wood  and  had  tried  to  carve  images  of  the  saints. 
It  was  very  hard,  but  it  would  be  worse  to  make 
himself  into  a  saint;  much  worse.  However,  he  was 
not  afraid  of  difficulties  and  privations. 

He  crept  out  of  his  room,  across  the  attic  and 
down  the  stair.  It  only  remained  to  go  through  the 
shop  out  to  the  street,  but  on  the  last  step  he 
stopped.  A  faint  light  filtered  through  a  crack  in 
the  door  to  the  left  of  the  stairs. 

It  was  the  door  to  Donna  Elisa's  room,  and  Gaetano 
did  not  dare  to  go  any  further,  since  his  foster 
mother  had  her  candle  lighted.  If  she  was  not 
asleep  she  would  hear  him  when  he  drew  the  heavy 
bolts  on  the  shop  door.  He  sat  softly  down  on  the 
stairs  to  wait. 


42  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Suddenly  he  happened  to  think  that  Donna  Elisa 
must  sit  up  so  long  at  night  and  work  in  order  to  get 
him  food  and  clothes.  He  was  much  touched  that 
she  loved  him  so  much  as  to  want  to  do  it.  And 
he  understood  what  a  grief  it  would  be  to  her  if 
he  should  go. 

When  he  thought  of  that  he  began  to  weep. 

But  at  the  same  time  he  began  to  upbraid  Donna 
Elisa  in  his  thoughts.  How  could  she  be  so  stupid 
as  to  grieve  because  he  went.  It  would  be  such  a 
joy  for  her  when  he  should  become  a  holy  man. 
That  would  be  her  reward  for  having  gone  to  Palermo 
and  fetched  him. 

He  cried  more  and  more  violently  while  he  was 
consoling  Donna  Elisa.  It  was  hard  that  she  did 
not  understand  what  a  reward  she  would  receive. 

There  was  no  need  for  her  to  be  sad.  For  ten 
years  only  would  Gaetano  live  on  the  mountain,  and 
then  he  would  come  back  as  the  famous  hermit  Fra 
Gaetano.  Then  he  would  come  walking  through  the 
streets  of  Diamante,  followed  by  a  great  crowd  of 
people,  like  Father  Gondo.  And  there  would  be 
flags,  and  the  houses  would  be  decorated  with  cloths 
and  wreaths.  He  would  stop  in  front  of  Donna 
Elisa's  shop,  and  Donna  Elisa  would  not  recognize 
him  and  would  be  ready  to  fall  on  her  knees  before 
him.  But  so  should  it  not  be;  he  would  kneel  to 
Donna  Elisa,  and  ask  her  forgiveness,  because  he 
had  run  away  from  her  ten  years  ago.  "Gaetano," 
Donna  Elisa  would  then  answer,  "you  give  me  an 
ocean  of  joy  against  a  little  brook  of  sorrow.  Should 
I  not  forgive  you  ? " 

Gaetano  saw  all  this  before  him,  and  it  was  so 
beautiful  that  he  began  to  weep  more  violently.  He 


FRA    G  A  ETA  NO  43 

was  only  afraid  that  Donna  Elisa  would  hear  how  he 
was  sobbing  and  come  out  and  find  him.  And  then 
she  would  not  let  him  go. 

He  must  talk  sensibly  with  her.  Would  he  ever 
give  her  greater  pleasure  than  if  he  went  now  ? 

It  was  not  only  Donna  Elisa,  there  was  also  Luca 
and  Pacifica,  who  would  be  so  glad  when  he  came 
back  as  a  holy  man. 

They  would  all  follow  him  up  to  the  market-place. 
There,  there  would  be  even  more  flags  than  in  the 
streets,  and  Gaetano  would  speak  from  the  steps  of 
the  town  hall.  And  from  all  the  streets  and  courts 
people  would  come  streaming. 

Then  Gaetano  would  speak,  so  that  they  should  all 
fall  on  their  knees  and  cry :  "  Bless  us,  Fra  Gaetano, 
bless  us!" 

After  that  he  would  never  leave  Diamante  again. 
He  would  live  under  the  great  steps  outside  Donna 
Elisa's  shop. 

And  they  would  come  to  him  with  their  sick, 
and  those  in  trouble  would  make  a  pilgrimage  to 
him. 

When  the  syndic  of  Diamante  went  by  he  would 
kiss  Gaetano's  hand. 

Donna  Elisa  would  sell  Fra  Gaetano's  image  in 
her  shop. 

And  Donna  Elisa's  god-daughter,  Giannita,  would 
bow  before  Fra  Gaetano  and  never  again  call  him  a 
stupid  monk-boy. 

And  Donna  Elisa  would  be  so  happy. 

Ah  .  .  .  Gaetano  started  up,  and  awoke.  It  was 
bright  daylight,  and  Donna  Elisa  and  Pacifica  stood 
and  looked  at  him.  And  Gaetano  sat  on  the  stairs 


44  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

with  his  shoes  under  his  arm,  his  hat  on  his  head 
and  his  bundle  at  his  feet  But  Donna  Elisa  and 
Pacifica  wept.  "  He  has  wished  to  run  away  from 
us,"  they  said. 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  here,  Gaetano  ?  " 
"  Donna  Elisa,  I  wanted  to  run  away. " 
Gaetano  was  in  a  good   mood,  and   answered   as 
boldly  as  if  it  had  been  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world. 

"  Do  you  want  to  run  away  ?  "  repeated  Donna 
Elisa. 

"I  wished  to  go  off  on  Etna  and  be  a  hermit." 
"  And  why  are  you  sitting  here  now  ?  " 
"I  do  not  know,  Donna  Elisa;  I  must  have  fallen 
asleep. " 

Donna  Elisa  now  showed  how  distressed  she  was. 
She  pressed  her  hands  over  her  heart,  as  if  she  had 
terrible  pains,  and  she  wept  passionately. 

"But  now  I  shall  stay,  Donna  Elisa,"  said 
Gaetano. 

"  You,  stay ! "  cried  Donna  Elisa.  "  You  might  as 
well  go.  Look  at  him,  Pacifica,  look  at  the  ingrate ! 
He  is  no  Alagona.  He  is  an  adventurer." 

The  blood  rose  in  Gaetano 's  face  and  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  struck  out  with  his  hands  in  a  way 
which  astonished  Donna  Elisa.  So  had  all  the  men 
of  her  race  done.  It  was  her  father  and  her  grand- 
father; she  recognized  all  the  powerful  lords  of  the 
family  of  Alagona. 

"  You  speak  so  because  you  know  nothing  about 
it,  Donna  Elisa,"  said  the  boy.  "No,  no,  you  do 
not  know  anything;  you  do  not  know  why  I  had  to 
serve  God.  But  you  shall  know  it  now.  Do  you 
see,  it  was  long  ago.  My  father  and  mother  were  so 


FRA   GAETANO  45 

poor,  and  we  had  nothing  to  eat;  and  so  father  went 
to  look  for  work,  and  he  never  came  back,  and 
mother  and  we  children  were  almost  dead  of  starva- 
tion. So  mother  said:  'We  will  go  and  look  for 
your  father.'  And  we  went.  Night  came  and  a 
heavy  rain,  and  in  one  place  a  river  flowed  over  the 
road.  Mother  asked  in  one  house  if  we  might  pass 
the  night  there.  No,  they  showed  us  out.  Mother 
and  children  stood  in  the  road  and  cried.  Then 
mother  tucked  up  her  dress  and  went  down  into  the 
stream  that  roared  over  the  road.  She  had  my  little 
sister  on  her  arm  and  my  big  sister  by  the  hand  and 
a  big  bundle  on  her  head.  I  went  after  as  near  as  I 
could.  I  saw  mother  lose  her  footing.  The  bundle 
she  carried  on  her  head  fell  into  the  stream,  and 
mother  caught  at  it  and  dropped  little  sister.  She 
snatched  at  little  sister  and  big  sister  was  whirled 
away.  Mother  threw  herself  after  them,  and  the 
river  took  her  too.  I  was  frightened  and  ran  to  the 
shore.  Father  Josef  has  told  me  that  I  escaped 
because  I  was  to  serve  God  for  the  dead,  and  pray 
for  them.  And  that  was  why  it  was  first  decided 
that  I  was  to  be  a  monk,  and  why  I  now  wish  to  go 
away  on  Etna  and  become  a  hermit.  There  is  noth- 
ing else  for  me  but  to  serve  God,  Donna  Elisa. " 

Donna  Elisa  was  quite  subdued.  "Yes,  yes, 
Gaetano,"  she  said,  "but  it  hurts  me  so.  I  do  not 
want  you  to  go  away  from  me." 

"No,  I  shall  not  go  either,"  said  Gaetano.  He 
was  in  such  a  good  mood  that  he  felt  a  desire  to 
laugh.  "I  shall  not  go." 

"Shall  I  speak  to  the  priest,  so  that  you  may  be 
sent  to  a  seminary?"  asked  Donna  Elisa,  humbly. 

"No;  but  you  do  not  understand,  Donna  Elisa; 


46  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

you  do  not  understand.  I  tell  you  that  I  will  not 
go  away  from  you.  I  have  thought  of  something 
else." 

"  What  have  you  thought  of  ?  "  she  asked  sadly. 

"What  do  you  suppose  I  was  doing  while  I  sat 
there  on  the  stairs?  I  was  dreaming,  Donna  Elisa. 
I  dreamed  that  I  was  going  to  run  away.  Yes, 
Donna  Elisa,  I  stood  in  the  shop,  and  I  was  going 
to  open  the  shop  door,  but  I  could  not  because  there 
were  so  many  locks.  I  stood  in  the  dark  and  un- 
locked lock  after  lock,  and  always  there  were  new 
ones.  I  made  a  terrible  noise,  and  I  thought: 
'  Now  surely  Donna  Elisa  will  come. '  At  last  the 
door  opened,  and  I  was  going  to  rush  out ;  but  just 
then  I  felt  your  hand  on  my  neck,  and  you  drew  me 
in,  and  I  kicked,  and  I  struck  you  because  I  was  not 
allowed  to  go.  But,  Donna  Elisa,  you  had  a  candle 
with  you,  and  then  I  saw  that  it  was  not  you,  but  my 
mother.  Then  I  did  not  dare  to  struggle  any  more, 
and  I  was  very  frightened,  for  mother  is  dead.  But 
mother  took  the  bundle  I  was  carrying  and  began  to 
take  out  what  was  in  it.  Mother  laughed  and  looked 
so  glad,  and  I  grew  glad  that  she  was  not  angry  with 
me.  It  was  so  strange.  What  she  drew  out  of  the 
bundle  was  all  the  little  saints'  images  that  I  had 
carved  while  I  sat  with  you  in  the  shop,  and  they 
were  so  pretty.  '  Can  you  carve  such  pretty  images, 
Gaetano  ? '  said  mother.  '  Yes, '  I  answered.  *  Then 
you  can  serve  God  by  it, '  said  mother.  '  Do  I  not 
need  to  leave  Donna  Elisa,  then?'  'No,'  said 
mother.  And  just  as  mother  said  that,  you  waked 
me." 

Gaetano  looked  at  Donna  Elisa  in  triumph. 

"  What  did  mother  mean  by  that  ? " 


FRA    G  A  ETA  NO  47 

Donna  Elisa  only  wondered. 

Gaetano  threw  his  head  back  and  laughed. 

"  Mother  meant  that  you  should  apprentice  me, 
so  that  I  could  serve  God  by  carving  beautiful  images 
of  angels  and  saints,  Donna  Elisa." 


48  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


III 

THE  GOD-SISTER 

IN  the  noble  inland  of  Sicily,  where  there  are  more 
old  customs  left  than  in  any  other  place  in  the  south, 
it  is  always  the  habit  of  every  one  while  yet  a  child 
to  choose  a  god-brother  or  god-sister,  who  shall 
carry  his  or  her  children  to  be  christened,  if  there 
ever  are  any. 

But  this  is  not  by  any  means  the  only  use  god- 
brothers  and  sisters  have  of  one  another.  God- 
brothers  and  sisters  must  love  one  another,  serve  one 
another,  and  revenge  one  another.  In  a  god-brother's 
ear  a  man  can  bury  his  secrets.  He  can  trust  him 
with  both  money  and  sweetheart,  and  not  be  deceived. 
God-brothers  and  sisters  are  as  faithful  to  each  other 
as  if  they  were  born  of  the  same  mother,  because 
their  covenant  is  made  before  San  Giovanni  Battista, 
who  is  the  most  feared  of  all  the  saints. 

It  is  also  the  custom  for  the  poor  to  take  their 
half -grown  children  to  rich  people  and  ask  that  they 
may  be  god-brothers  and  sisters  to  their  young  sons 
and  daughters.  What  a  glad  sight  it  is  on  the  holy 
Baptist's  day  to  see  all  those  little  children  in  fes- 
tival array  wandering  through  the  great  towns  look- 
ing for  a  god-brother  or  sister!  If  the  parents 
succeed  in  giving  their  son  a  rich  god-brother,  they 
are  as  glad  as  if  they  were  able  to  leave  him  a  farm 
as  an  inheritance. 


THE  GOD-SISTER  49 

When  Gaetano  first  came  to  Diamante,  there  was 
a  little  girl  who  was  always  coming  in  and  out  of 
Donna  Elisa's  shop.  She  had  a  red  cloak  and 
pointed  cap  and  eight  heavy,  black  curls  that  stood 
out  under  the  cap.  Her  name  was  Giannita,  and 
she  was  daughter  of  Donna  Olivia,  who  sold  vege- 
tables. But  Donna  Elisa  was  her  god-mother,  and 
therefore  thought  what  she  could  do  for  her. 

Well,  when  midsummer  day  came,  Donna  Elisa 
ordered  a  carriage  and  drove  down  to  Catania,  which 
lies  full  twenty  miles  from  Diamante.  She  had 
Giannita  with  her,  and  they  were  both  dressed  in 
their  best.  Donna  Elisa  was  dressed  in  black  silk 
with  jet,  and  Giannita  had  a  white  tulle  dress  with 
garlands  of  flowers.  In  her  hand  Giannita  held  a 
basket  of  flowers,  and  among  the  flowers  lay  a 
pomegranate. 

The  journey  went  well  for  Donna  Elisa  and 
Giannita.  When  at  last  they  reached  the  white 
Catania,  that  lies  and  shines  on  the  black  lava  back- 
ground, they  drove  up  to  the  finest  palace  in  the  town. 

It  was  lofty  and  wide,  so  that  the  poor  little 
Giannita  felt  quite  terrified  at  the  thought  of  going 
into  it.  But  Donna  Elisa  walked  bravely  in,  and 
she  was  taken  to  Cavaliere  Palmeri  and  his  wife 
who  owned  the  house. 

Donna  Elisa  reminded  Signora  Palmeri  that  they 
were  friends  from  infancy,  and  asked  that  Giannita 
might  be  her  young  daughter's  god-sister. 

That  was  agreed  upon,  and  the  young  signorina 
was  called  in.  She  was  a  little  marvel  of  rose- 
colored  silk,  Venetian  lace,  big,  black  eyes,  and 
thick,  bushy  hair.  Her  little  body  was  so  small  and 
thin  that  one  hardly  noticed  it. 

4 


50  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Giannita  offered  her  the  basket  of  flowers,  and 
she  graciously  accepted  it.  She  looked  long  and 
thoughtfully  at  Giannita,  walked  round  her,  and  was 
fascinated  by  her  smooth,  even  curls.  When  she 
had  seen  them,  she  ran  after  a  knife,  cut  the  pome- 
granate and  gave  Giannita  half. 

While  they  ate  the  fruit,  they  held  each  other's 
hand  and  both  said :  — 

"  Sister,  sister,  sister  mine ! 
Thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  thine, 
Thine  my  house,  my  bread  and  wine, 
Thine  my  joys,  my  sacrifice, 
Thine  my  place  in  Paradise." 

Then  they  kissed  each  other  and  called  each  other 
god-sister. 

"You  must  never  fail  me,  god-sister,"  said  the 
little  signorina,  and  both  the  children  were  very 
serious  and  moved. 

They  had  become  such  good  friends  in  the  short 
time  that  they  cried  when  they  parted. 

But  then  twelve  years  went  by  and  the  two  god 
sisters  lived  each  in  her  own  world  and  never  met. 
During  the  whole  time  Giannita  was  quietly  in  her 
home  and  never  came  to  Catania. 

But  then  something  really  strange  happened. 
Giannita  sat  one  afternoon  in  the  room  back  of  the 
shop  embroidering.  She  was  very  skilful  and  was 
often  overwhelmed  with  work.  But  it  is  trying  to 
the  eyes  to  embroider,  and  it  was  dark  in  Giannita' s 
room.  She  had  therefore  half-opened  the  door  into 
the  shop  to  get  a  little  more  light. 

Just  after  the  clock  had  struck  four,  the  old 
miller's  widow,  Rosa  Alfari,  came  walking  by. 
Donna  Olivia's  shop  was  very  attractive  from  the 


THE  GOD-SISTER  5 1 

street.  The  eyes  fell  through  the  half-open  door  on 
great  baskets  with  fresh  vegetables  and  bright-colored 
fruits,  and  far  back  in  the  background  the  outline  of 
Giannita's  pretty  head.  Rosa  Alfari  stopped  and 
began  to  talk  to  Donna  Olivia,  simply  because  her 
shop  looked  so  friendly. 

Laments  and  complaints  always  followed  old  Rosa 
Alfari.  Now  she  was  sad  because  she  had  to  go  to 
Catania  alone  that  night.  "It  is  a  misfortune  that 
the  post-wagon  does  not  reach  Diamante  before  ten," 
she  said.  "  I  shall  fall  asleep  on  the  way,  and  per- 
haps they  will  then  steal  my  money.  And  what  shall 
I  do  when  I  come  to  Catania  at  two  o'clock  at  night  ?  " 

Then  Giannita  suddenly  called  out  into  the  shop. 
'  Will  you  take  me  with  you  to  Catania,  Donna 
Alfari  ? "  she  asked,  half  in  joke,  without  expecting 
an  answer. 

But  Rosa  Alfari  said  eagerly,  "  Lord,  child,  will 
you  go  with  me?  Will  you  really?  " 

Giannita  came  out  into  the  shop,  red  with  pleasure. 
"If  I  will !"  she  said.  "I  have  not  been  in  Catania 
for  twelve  years. " 

Rosa  Alfari  looked  delightedly  at  her;  Giannita 
was  tall  and  strong,  her  eyes  gay,  and  she  had  a 
careless  smile  on  her  lips.  She  was  a  splendid 
travelling  companion. 

"Get  ready,"  said  the  old  woman.  "You  will  go 
with  me  at  ten  o'clock;  it  is  settled." 

The  next  day  Giannita  wandered  about  the  streets 
of  Catania.  She  was  thinking  the  whole  time  of 
her  god-sister.  She  was  strangely  moved  to  be  so 
near  her  again.  She  loved  her  god-sister,  Giannita, 
and  she  did  it  not  only  because  San  Giovanni  has 
commanded  people  to  love  their  god-brothers  and 


52  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

sisters.  She  had  adored  the  little  child  in  the  silk 
dress;  she  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  she  had  ever 
seen.  She  had  almost  become  her  idol. 

She  knew  this  much  about  her  sister,  that  she 
was  still  unmarried  and  lived  in  Catania.  Her 
mother  was  dead,  and  she  had  not  been  willing  to 
leave  her  father,  and  had  stayed  as  hostess  in  his 
house.  "I  must  manage  to  see  her,"  thought 
Giannita. 

Whenever  Giannita  met  a  well-appointed  car- 
riage she  thought :  "  Perhaps  it  is  my  god-sister 
driving  there. "  And  she  stared  at  everybody  to  see 
if  any  of  them  was  like  the  little  girl  with  the  thick 
hair  and  the  big  eyes. 

Her  heart  began  to  beat  wildly.  She  had  always 
longed  for  her  god-sister.  She  herself  was  still 
unmarried,  because  she  liked  a  young  wood-carver, 
Gaetano  Alagona,  and  he  had  never  shown  the 
slightest  desire  to  marry  her.  Giannita  had  often 
been  angry  with  him  for  that,  and  not  least  had  it 
irritated  her  never  to  be  able  to  invite  her  god-sister 
to  her  wedding. 

She  had  been  so  proud  of  her,  too.  She  had 
thought  herself  finer  than  the  others,  because  she 
had  such  a  god-sister.  What  if  she  should  now  go 
to  see  her,  since  she  was  in  the  town?  It  would 
give  a  lustre  to  the  whole  journey. 

As  she  thought  and  thought  of  it,  a  newspaper-boy 
came  running.  "  Giornale  da  Sicilia,"  he  called. 
"  The  Palmeri  affair !  Great  embezzlements  ! " 

Giannita  seized  the  boy  by  the  neck  as  he  rushed 
by.  "What  are  you  saying?"  she  screamed.  "You 
lie,  you  lie ! "  and  she  was  ready  to  strike  him. 

"Buy  my  paper,  signora,  before  you  strike  me," 


THE  GOD-SISTER  S3 

said  the  boy.  Giannita  bought  the  paper  and  began 
to  read.  She  found  in  it  without  difficulty  the 
Palmeri  affair. 

"Since  this  case  is  to  be  tried  to-day  in  the 
courts,"  wrote  the  paper,  "we  will  give  an  account 
of  it." 

Giannita  read  and  read.  She  read  it  over  and  over 
before  she  understood.  There  was  not  a  muscle  in 
her  body  which  did  not  begin  to  tremble  with  horror 
when  she  at  last  comprehended  it. 

Her  god-sister's  father,  who  had  owned  great 
vineyards,  had  been  ruined,  because  the  blight  had 
laid  them  waste.  And  that  was  not  the  worst.  He 
had  also  dissipated  a  charitable  fund  which  had 
been  intrusted  to  him.  He  was  arrested,  and  to-day 
he  was  to  be  tried. 

Giannita  crushed  the  newspaper  together,  threw 
it  into  the  street  and  trampled  on  it.  It  deserved 
no  better  for  bringing  such  news. 

Then  she  stood  quite  crushed  that  this  should 
meet  her  when  she  came  to  Catania  for  the  first 
time  in  twelve  years.  "Lord  God,"  she  said,  "is 
there  any  meaning  in  it?" 

At  home,  in  Diamante,  no  one  would  ever  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  tell  her  what  was  going  on. 
Was  it  not  destiny  that  she  should  be  here  on  the 
very  day  of  the  trial  ? 

"Listen,  Donna  Alfari,"  she  said;  "you  may  do 
as  you  like,  but  I  must  go  to  the  court." 

There  was  a  decision  about  Giannita.  Nothing 
could  disturb  her.  "  Do  you  not  understand  that  it  is 
for  this,  and  not  for  your  sake,  that  God  has  induced 
you  to  take  me  with  you  to  Catania?"  she  said  to 
Rosa  Alfari. 


54  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Giannita  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  there 
was  something  supernatural  in  it  all. 

Rosa  Alfari  must  needs  let  her  go,  and  she  found 
her  way  to  the  Palace  of  Justice.  She  stood  among 
the  street  boys  and  riff-raff,  and  saw  Cavaliere 
Palmeri  on  the  bench  of  the  accused.  He  was  a  fine 
gentleman,  with  a  white,  pointed  beard  and  mous- 
tache. Giannita  recognized  him. 

She  heard  that  he  was  condemned  to  six  months' 
imprisonment,  and  Giannita  thought  she  saw  even 
more  plainly  that  she  had  come  there  as  an  emissary 
from  God.  "Now  my  god-sister  must  need  me," 
she  thought. 

She  went  out  into  the  street  again  and  asked  her 
way  to  the  Palazzo  Palmeri. 

On  the  way  a  carriage  drove  by  her.  She  looked 
up,  and  her  eyes  met  those  of  the  lady  who  sat  in 
the  carriage.  At  the  same  moment  something  told 
her  that  this  was  her  god-sister.  She  who  was  driv- 
ing was  pale  and  bent  and  had  beseeching  eyes. 
Giannita  loved  her  from  the  first  sight.  "  It  is  you 
who  have  given  me  pleasure  many  times,"  she  said, 
"  because  I  expected  pleasure  from  you.  Now  per- 
haps I  can  pay  you  back." 

Giannita  felt  filled  with  devotion  when  she  went 
up  the  high,  white  marble  steps  to  the  Palazzo 
Palmeri,  but  suddenly  a  doubt  struck  her.  "What 
can  God  wish  me  to  do  for  one  who  has  grown  up 
in  such  magnificence?"  she  thought.  "Does  our 
Lord  forget  that  I  am  only  poor  Giannita  from 
Diamante  ? " 

She  told  a  servant  to  greet  Signorina  Palmeri  and 
say  to  her  that  her  god-sister  wished  to  speak  to 
her.  She  was  surprised  when  the  servant  came  back 


THE   GOD-SISTER  5$ 

and   said  that  she  could  not  be  received  that  day. 
Should  she  be  content  with  that  ?     Oh,  no  ;  oh,  no  ! 

"Tell  the  signorina  that  I  am  going  to  wait  here 
the  whole  day,  for  I  must  speak  to  her. " 

"The  signorina  is  going  to  move  out  of  the 
palace  in  half  an  hour,"  said  the  servant. 

Giannita  was  beside  herself.  "  But  I  am  her  god- 
sister,  her  god-sister,  do  you  not  understand  ? "  she 
said  to  the  man.  "  I  must  speak  to  her."  The  ser- 
vant smiled,  but  did  not  move. 

But  Giannita  would  not  be  turned  away.  Was 
she  not  sent  by  God  ?  He  must  understand,  under- 
stand, she  said,  and  raised  her  voice.  She  was  from 
Diamante  and  had  not  been  in  Catania  for  twelve 
years.  Until  yesterday  afternoon  at  four  o'clock  she 
had  not  thought  of  coming  here.  He  must  under- 
stand, not  until  yesterday  afternoon  at  four  o'clock. 

The  servant  stood  motionless.  Giannita  was  ready 
to  tell  him  the  whole  story  to  move  him,  when  the 
door  was  thrown  open.  Her  god-sister  stood  on  the 
threshold. 

"Who  is  speaking  of  yesterday  at  four  o'clock?  " 
she  said. 

"It  is  a  stranger,  Signorina  Micaela. " 

Then  Giannita  rushed  forward.  It  was  not  at  all 
a  stranger.  It  was  her  god-sister  from  Diamante, 
who  came  here  twelve  years  ago  with  Donna  Elisa. 
Did  she  not  remember  her?  Did  she  not  remember 
that  they  had  divided  a  pomegranate?  " 

The  signorina  did  not  listen  to  that.  "What  was 
it  that  happened  yesterday  at  four  o'clock?"  she 
asked,  with  great  anxiety. 

"I  then  got  God's  command  to  go  to  you,  god 
sister,"  said  Giannita. 


$6  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

The  other  looked  at  her  in  terror.  "  Come  with 
me,"  she  said,  as  if  afraid  that  the  servant  should 
hear  what  Giannita  wished  to  say  to  her. 

She  went  far  into  the  apartment  before  she  stopped. 
Then  she  turned  so  quickly  towards  Giannita  that 
she  was  frightened.  "  Tell  me  instantly  ! "  she  said. 
"Do  not  torture  me;  let  me  hear  it  instantly! " 

She  was  as  tall  as  Giannita,  but  very  unlike  her. 
She  was  more  delicately  made,  and  she,  the  woman 
of  the  world,  had  a  much  more  wild  and  untamed 
appearance  than  the  country  girl.  Everything  she 
felt  showed  in  her  face.  She  did  not  try  to  con- 
ceal it. 

Giannita  was  so  astonished  at  her  violence  that 
she  could  not  answer  at  first. 

Then  her  god-sister  lifted  her  arms  in  despair 
over  her  head  and  the  words  streamed  from  her  lips. 
She  said  that  she  knew  that  Giannita  had  been 
commanded  by  God  to  bring  her  word  of  new  mis- 
fortunes. God  hated  her,  she  knew  it. 

Giannita  clasped  her  hands.  God  hate  her!  on 
the  contrary,  on  the  contrary! 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Signorina  Palmeri.  "It  is  so." 
And  as  she  was  inwardly  afraid  of  the  message 
Giannita  had  for  her,  she  began  to  talk.  She  did 
not  let  her  speak;  she  interrupted  her  constantly. 
She  seemed  to  be  so  terrified  by  everything  that  had 
happened  to  her  during  the  last  days  that  she  could 
not  at  all  control  herself. 

Giannita  must  understand  that  God  hated  her,  she 
said.  She  had  done  something  so  terrible.  She 
had  forsaken  her  father,  failed  her  father.  Giannita 
must  have  read  the  last  account.  Then  she  burst 
out  again  in  passionate  questionings.  Why  did  she 


THE  GOD-SISTER  57 

not  tell  her  what  she  wished  to  tell  her  ?  She  did  not 
expect  anything  but  bad  news.  She  was  prepared. 

But  poor  Giannita  never  got  a  chance  to  speak; 
as  soon  as  she  began,  the  signorina  became  fright- 
ened and  interrupted  her.  She  told  her  story  as  if 
to  induce  Giannita  not  to  be  too  hard  to  her. 

Giannita  must  not  think  that  her  unhappiness 
only  came  from  the  fact  of  her  no  longer  having  hei 
carriage,  or  a  box  at  the  theatre,  or  beautiful  dresses, 
or  servants,  or  even  a  roof  over  her  head.  Neither 
was  it  enough  that  she  had  now  lost  all  her  friends, 
so  that  she  did  not  at  all  know  where  she  should  ask 
for  shelter.  Neither  was  it  misfortune  enough  that 
she  felt  such  shame  that  she  could  not  raise  her  eyes 
to  any  one's  face. 

But  there  was  something  else  much  worse. 

She  sat  down,  and  was  silent  a  moment,  while 
she  rocked  to  and  fro  in  agony.  But  when  Giannita 
began  to  speak,  she  interrupted  her. 

Giannita  could  not  think  how  her  father  had  loved 
her.  He  had  always  had  her  live  in  splendor  and 
magnificence,  like  a  princess. 

She  had  not  done  much  for  him;  only  let  him 
think  out  delightful  things  to  amuse  her.  It  had 
been  no  sacrifice  to  remain  unmarried,  for  she  had 
never  loved  any  one  like  her  father,  and  her  own 
home  had  been  finer  than  any  one  else's. 

But  one  day  her  father  had  come  and  said  to  her, 
"They  wish  to  arrest  me.  They  are  spreading  the 
report  that  I  have  stolen,  but  it  is  not  true."  Then 
she  had  believed  him,  and  helped  him  to  hide  from 
the  Carabinieri.  And  they  had  looked  for  him  in 
vain  in  Catania,  on  Etna,  over  the  whole  of  Sicily. 

But   when   the  police   could   not   find   Cavaliere 


58  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Palmed,  the  people  began  to  say:  "He  is  a  fine 
gentleman,  and  they  are  fine  gentlemen  who  help 
him;  otherwise  they  would  have  found  him  long 
ago."  And  the  prefect  in  Catania  had  come  to  her. 
She  received  him  smiling,  and  the  prefect  came  as 
if  to  talk  of  roses,  and  the  beautiful  weather.  Then 
he  said:  "Will  the  signorina  look  at  this  little 
paper?  Will  the  signorina  read  this  little  letter? 
Will  the  signorina  observe  this  little  signature?" 
She  read  and  read.  And  what  did  she  see?  Her 
father  was  not  innocent.  Her  father  had  taken  the 
money  of  others. 

When  the  prefect  had  left  her,  she  had  gone  to 
her  father.  "You  are  guilty,"  she  said  to  him. 
"  You  may  do  what  you  will,  but  I  cannot  help  you 
any  more."  Oh,  she  had  not  known  what  she  said! 
She  had  always  been  very  proud.  She  had  not  been 
able  to  bear  to  have  their  name  stamped  with  dis- 
honor. She  had  wished  for  a  moment  that  her 
father  had  been  dead,  rather  than  that  this  had 
happened  to  her.  Perhaps  she  had  also  said  it  to 
him.  She  did  not  rightly  know  what  she  had  said. 

But  after  that  God  had  forsaken  her.  The  most 
terrible  things  had  happened.  Her  father  had  taken 
her  at  her  word.  He  had  gone  and  given  himself 
up.  And  ever  since  he  had  been  in  prison  he  had 
not  been  willing  to  see  her.  He  did  not  answer  her 
letters,  and  the  food  that  she  sent  him  he  sent  back 
untouched.  That  was  the  most  dreadful  thing  of  all. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  she  wished  to  kill  him. 

She  looked  at  Giannita  as  anxiously  as  if  she 
awaited  her  sentence  of  death. 

"Why  do  you  not  say  to  me  what  you  have  to 
say?'3  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  killing  me!" 


THE  GOD-SISTER  59 

But  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  force  herself  to 
be  silent 

"You  must  know,"  she  continued,  "that  this 
palace  is  sold,  and  the  purchaser  has  let  it  to  an 
English  lady,  who  is  to  move  in  to-day.  Some  of 
her  things  were  brought  in  already  yesterday,  and 
among  them  was  a  little  image  of  Christ. 

"I  caught  sight  of  it  as  I  passed  through  the 
vestibule,  Giannita.  They  had  taken  it  out  of  a 
trunk,  and  it  lay  there  on  the  fleer.  It  had  been  so 
neglected  that  no  one  took  any  trouble  about  it. 
Its  crown  was  dented,  and  its  dress  dirty,  and  all  the 
small  ornaments  which  adorned  it  were  rusty  and 
broken.  But  when  I  saw  it  lying  on  the  floor,  I 
took  it  up  and  carried  it  into  the  room  and  placed 
it  on  a  table.  And  while  I  did  so,  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  would  ask  its  help.  I  knelt  down  before 
it  and  prayed  a  long  time.  '  Help  me  in  my  great 
need ! '  I  said  to  the  Christchild. 

"  While  I  prayed,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  image 
wished  to  answer  me.  I  lifted  my  head,  and  the 
child  stood  there  as  dull  as  before,  but  a  clock  began 
to  strike  just  then.  It  struck  four,  and  it  was  as  if 
it  had  said  four  words.  It  was  as  if  the  Christchild 
had  answered  a  fourfold  yes  to  my  prayer. 

"That  gave  me  courage,  Giannita,  so  that  to-day 
I  drove  to  the  Palace  of  Justice  to  see  my  father. 
But  he  never  turned  his  eyes  toward  me  during  the 
whole  time  he  stood  before  his  judges. 

"  I  waited  until  they  were  about  to  lead  him  away, 
and  threw  myself  on  my  knees  before  him  in  one  of 
the  narrow  passages.  Giannita,  he  let  the  soldiers 
lead  me  away  without  giving  me  a  word. 

"  So,  you  see,  God  hates  me.     When  I  heard  you 


6o 

speak  of  yesterday  afternoon  at  four  o'clock,  I  was 
so  frightened.  The  Christchild  sends  me  a  new 
misfortune,  I  thought.  It  hates  me  for  having 
failed  my  father." 

When  she  had  said  that,  she  was  at  last  silent  and 
listened  breathlessly  for  what  Giannita  should  say. 

And  Giannita  told  her  story  to  her. 

"  See,  see,  is  it  not  wonderful  ? "  she  said  at  the 
end.  "  I  have  not  been  in  Catania  for  twelve  years, 
and  then  I  come  here  quite  unexpectedly.  And  I 
know  nothing  at  all;  but  as  soon  as  I  set  my  foot 
on  the  street  here,  I  hear  your  misfortune.  God  has 
sent  a  message  to  me,  I  said  to  myself.  He  has 
called  me  here  to  help  my  god-sister." 

Signorina  Palmeri's  eyes  were  turned  anxiously 
questioning  towards  her.  Now  the  new  blow  was 
coming.  She  gathered  all  her  courage  to  meet  it. 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  for  you,  god-sister  ?  " 
said  Giannita.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  thought  as  I 
was  walking  through  the  streets  ?  I  will  ask  her  if 
she  will  go  with  me  to  Diamante,  I  thought.  I 
know  an  old  house  there,  where  we  could  live 
cheaply.  And  I  would  embroider  and  sew,  so  that 
we  could  support  ourselves.  When  I  was  out  in 
the  street  I  thought  that  it  might  be,  but  now  I 
understand  that  it  is  impossible,  impossible.  You 
require  something  more  of  life;  but  tell  me  if  I  can 
do  anything  for  you.  You  shall  not  thrust  me  away, 
for  God  has  sent  me. " 

The  signorina  bent  towards  Giannita.  "Well?" 
she  said  anxiously. 

"You  shall  let  me  do  what  I  can  for  you,  for  I 
love  you,"  said  Giannita,  and  fell  on  her  knees  and 
put  her  arms  about  her. 


THE  GOD-SISTER  6 1 

"Have  you  nothing  else  to  say?"  asked  the 
signorina. 

"I  wish  I  had,"  said  Giannita,  "but  I  am  only  a 
poor  girl." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  the  features  of  the 
young  signorina' s  face  softened  ;  how  her  color  came 
back  and  how  her  eyes  began  to  shine.  Now  it  was 
plain  that  she  had  great  beauty. 

"Giannita,"  she  said,  low  and  scarcely  audibly, 
"do  you  think  that  it  is  a  miracle?  Do  you  think 
that  God  can  let  a  miracle  come  to  pass  for  my 
sake  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,"  whispered  Giannita  back. 

"  I  prayed  the  Christchild  that  he  should  help  me, 
and  he  sends  you  to  me.  Do  you  think  that  it  was 
the  Christchild  who  sent  you,  Giannita?" 

"  Yes,  it  was ;  it  was  ! " 

Then  God  has  not  forsaken  me,  Giannita?" 

"  No,  God  has  not  forsaken  you. " 

The  god-sisters  sat  and  wept  for  a  while.  It  was 
quite  quiet  in  the  room.  "  When  you  came,  Giannita, 
I  thought  that  nothing  was  left  me  but  to  kill  my- 
self, "  she  said  at  last  "  I  did  not  know  where  to 
turn,  and  God  hated  me." 

"  But  tell  me  now  what  I  can  do  for  you,  god- 
sister,"  said  Giannita. 

As  an  answer  the  other  drew  her  to  her  and 
kissed  her. 

"But  it  is  enough  that  you  are  sent  by  the  little 
Christchild,"  she  said.  "It  is  enough  that  I  know 
that  God  has  not  forsaken  me." 


62  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

IV 

DIAMANTE 

MICAELA  Palmeri  was  on  her  way  to  Diamante  with 
Giannita. 

They  had  taken  their  places  in  the  post-carriage 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  had  driven  up 
the  beautiful  road  over  the  lower  slopes  of  Etna, 
circling  round  the  mountain.  But  it  had  been  quite 
dark.  They  had  not  seen  anything  of  the  surround- 
ing country. 

The  young  signorina  by  no  means  lamented  over 
that.  She  sat  with  closed  eyes  and  buried  herself 
in  her  sorrow.  Even  when  it  began  to  grow  light, 
she  would  not  lift  her  eyes  to  look  out.  It  was  not 
until  they  were  quite  near  Diamante  that  Giannita 
could  persuade  her  to  look  at  the  landscape. 

"Look!  Here  is  Diamante;  this  is  to  be  your 
home,"  she  said. 

Then  Micaela  Palmeri,  to  the  right  of  the  road, 
saw  mighty  Etna,  that  cut  off  a  great  piece  of 
the  sky.  Behind  the  mountain  the  sun  was  rising, 
and  when  the  upper  edge  of  the  sun's  disc  appeared 
above  the  line  of  the  mountain,  it  looked  as  if  the 
white  summit  began  to  burn  and  send  out  sparks 
and  rays. 

Giannita  entreated  her  to  look  at  the  other  side. 

And  on  the  other  side  she  saw  the  whole  jagged 
mountain  chain,  which  surrounds  Etna  like  a  towered 
wall,  glowing  red  in  the  sunrise. 


DIAMANTE  63 

But  Giannita  pointed  in  another  direction.  It 
was  not  that  she  was  to  look  at,  not  that. 

Then  she  lowered  her  eyes  and  looked  down  into 
the  black  valley.  There  the  ground  shone  like 
velvet,  and  the  white  Simeto  foamed  along  in  the 
depths  of  the  valley. 

But  still  she  did  not  turn  her  eyes  in  the  right 
direction. 

At  last  she  saw  the  steep  Monte  Chiaro  rising 
out  of  the  black,  velvet-lined  valley,  red  in  the 
morning  light  and  encircled  by  a  crown  of  shady 
palms.  On  its  summit  she  saw  a  town  flanked  with 
towers,  and  encompassed  by  a  wall,  and  with  all  its 
windows  and  weather-vanes  glittering  in  the  light. 

At  that  sight  she  seized  Giannita's  arm  and  asked 
her  if  it  was  a  real  town,  and  if  people  lived  there. 

She  believed  that  it  was  one  of  heaven's  cities, 
and  that  it  would  disappear  like  a  vision.  She  was 
certain  that  no  mortal  had  ever  passed  up  the  path 
that  from  the  edge  of  the  valley  went  in  great  curves 
over  to  Monte  Chiaro  and  then  zigzagged  up  the 
mountain,  disappearing  through  the  dark  gates  of 
the  town. 

But  when  she  came  nearer  to  Diamante,  and  saw 
that  it  was  of  the  earth,  and  real,  tears  rose  to  her 
eyes.  It  moved  her  that  the  earth  still  held  all  this 
beauty  for  her.  She  had  believed  that,  since  it  had 
been  the  scene  of  all  her  misfortunes,  she  would 
always  find  it  gray  and  withered  and  covered  with 
thistles  and  poisonous  growths. 

She  entered  poor  Diamante  with  clasped  hands,  as 
if  it  were  a  sanctuary.  And  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  this 
town  could  offer  her  as  much  happiness  as  beauty. 


64  THE  MIRACLES  JOF  ANTICHRIST 


DON  FERRANTE 

A  FEW  days  later  Gaetano  was  standing  in  his  work- 
shop, cutting  grape-leaves  on  rosary  beads.  It  was 
Sunday,  but  Gaetano  did  not  feel  it  on  his  con- 
science that  he  was  working,  for  it  was  a  work  in 
God's  honor. 

A  great  restlessness  and  anxiety  had  come  over 
him.  It  had  come  into  his  mind  that  the  time  he 
had  been  living  at  peace  with  Donna  Elisa  was  now 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  he  thought  that  he  must 
soon  start  out  into  the  world. 

For  great  poverty  had  come  to  Sicily,  and  he  saw 
want  wandering  from  town  to  town  and  from  house 
to  house  like  the  plague,  and  it  had  come  to  Diamante 
also. 

No  one  ever  came  now  to  Donna  Elisa's  shop  to 
buy  anything.  The  little  images  of  the  saints  that 
Gaetano  made  stood  in  close  rows  on  the  shelves, 
and  the  rosaries  hung  in  great  bunches  under  the 
counter.  And  Donna  Elisa  was  in  great  want  and 
sorrow,  because  she  could  not  earn  anything. 

That  was  a  sign  to  Gaetano  that  he  must  leave 
Diamante,  go  out  into  the  world,  emigrate  if  there 
was  no  other  way.  For  it  could  not  be  working  to 
the  honor  of  God  to  carve  images  that  never  were 
worshipped,  and  to  turn  rosary  beads  that  never 
glided  through  a  petitioner's  fingers. 


DON  f'EKKANTE  65 

It  seemed  to  him  that,  somewhere  in  the  world, 
there  must  be  a  beautiful,  newly  built  cathedral, 
with  finished  walls,  but  whose  interior  yet  stood 
shivering  in  nakedness.  It  awaited  Gaetano's  com- 
ing to  carve  the  choir  chairs,  the  altar-rail,  the 
pulpit,  the  lectern,  and  the  shrine.  His  heart  ached 
with  longing  for  that  work  which  was  waiting. 

But  there  was  no  such  cathedral  in  Sicily,  for 
there  no  one  ever  thought  of  building  a  new  church ; 
it  must  be  far  away  in  such  lands  as  Florida  or 
Argentina,  where  the  earth  is  not  yet  overcrowded 
with  holy  buildings. 

He  felt  at  the  same  time  trembling  and  happy, 
and  had  begun  to  work  with  redoubled  zeal  in  order 
that  Donna  Elisa  should  have  something  to  sell 
while  he  was  away  earning  great  fortunes  for  her. 

Now  he  was  waiting  for  but  one  more  sign  from 
God  before  he  decided  on  the  journey.  And  this 
was  that  he  should  have  the  strength  to  speak  to 
Donna  Elisa  of  his  longing  tc  go.  For  he  knew  that 
it  would  cause  her  such  sorrow  that  he  did  not  know 
how  he  could  bring  himself  to  speak  of  it. 

While  he  stood  and  thought  Donna  Elisa  came 
into  the  workshop.  Then  he  said  to  himself  that 
this  day  he  could  not  think  of  saying  it  to  her,  for 
to-day  Donna  Elisa  was  happy.  Her  tongue  wagged 
and  her  face  beamed. 

Gaetano  asked  himself  when  he  had  seen  her  so. 
Ever  since  the  famine  had  come,  it  had  been  as  if 
they  had  lived  without  light  in  one  of  the  caves  of 
Etna. 

Why  had  Gaetano  not  been  with  her  in  the  square 
and  heard  the  music?  asked  Donna  Elisa.  Why  did 
he  never  come  to  henr  and  see  her  brother,  Don 

S 


66  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Ferrante?  Gaetano,  who  only  saw  him  when  he 
stood  in  the  shop  with  his  tufts  of  hair  and  his  short 
jacket,  did  not  know  what  kind  of  a  man  he  was. 
He  considered  him  an  ugly  old  tradesman,  who  had 
a  wrinkled  face  and  a  rough  beard.  No  one  knew 
Don  Ferrante  who  had  not  seen  him  on  Sunday, 
when  he  conducted  the  music. 

That  day  he  had  donned  a  new  uniform.  He 
wore  a  three-cornered  hat  with  green,  red,  and  white 
feathers,  silver  on  his  collar,  silver-fringed  epau- 
lets, silver  braid  on  his  breast,  and  a  sword  at  his 
side.  And  when  he  stepped  up  to  the  conductor's 
platform  the  wrinkles  had  been  smoothed  out  of  his 
face  and  his  figure  had  grown  erect.  He  could 
almost  have  been  called  handsome. 

When  he  had  led  Cavallcria,  people  had  hardly 
been  able  to  breathe.  What  had  Gaetano  to  say  to 
that,  that  the  big  houses  round  the  market-place  had 
sung  too?  From  the  black  Palazzo  Geraci,  Donna 
Elisa  had  distinctly  heard  a  love  song,  and  from  the 
convent,  empty  as  it  was,  a  beautiful  hymn  had 
streamed  out  over  the  market-place. 

And  when  there  was  a  pause  in  the  music  the 
handsome  advocate  Favara,  who  had  been  dressed  in 
a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  big  broad-brimmed  hat 
and  a  bright  red  necktie,  had  gone  up  to  Don 
Ferrante,  and  had  pointed  out  over  the  open  side 
of  the  square,  where  Etna  and  the  sea  lay.  "  Don 
Ferrante,"  he  had  said,  "you  lift  us  toward  the  skies, 
just  as  Etna  does,  and  you  carry  us  away  into  the 
eternal,  like  the  infinite  sea." 

If  Gaetano  had  seen  Don  Ferrante  to-day  he 
would  have  loved  him.  At  least  he  would  have 
been  obliged  to  acknowledge  his  stateliness.  When 


DON  FERRANTE  67 

he  laid  down  his  baton  for  a  while  and  took  the 
advocate's  arm,  and  walked  forward  and  back  with 
him  on  the  flat  stones  by  the  Roman  gate  and  the 
Palazzo  Geraci,  every  one  could  see  that  he  could 
well  measure  himself  against  the  handsome  Favara. 

Donna  Elisa  sat  on  the  stone  bench  by  the  cathe- 
dral, in  company  with  the  wife  of  the  syndic.  And 
Signora  Voltaro  had  said  quite  suddenly,  after  sit- 
ting for  a  while,  watching  Don  Ferrante:  "Donna 
Elisa,  your  brother  is  still  a  young  man.  He  may 
still  be  married,  in  spite  of  his  fifty  years." 

And  she,  Donna  Elisa,  had  answered  that  she 
prayed  heaven  for  it  every  day. 

But  she  had  hardly  said  it,  when  a  lady  dressed 
in  mourning  came  into  the  square.  Never  had  any- 
thing so  black  been  seen  before.  It  was  not  enough 
that  dress  and  hat  and  gloves  were  black ;  her  veil 
was  so  thick  that  it  was  impossible  to  believe  that 
there  was  a  face  behind  it.  Santissimo  Dio!  it 
looked  as  if  she  had  hung  a  pall  over  herself.  And 
she  had  walked  slowly,  and  with  a  stoop.  People 
had  almost  feared,  believing  that  it  was  a  ghost. 

Alas,  alas !  the  whole  market-place  had  been  so 
full  of  gayety !  The  peasants,  who  were  at  home 
over  Sunday,  had  stood  there  in  great  crowds  in 
holiday  dress,  with  red  shawls  wound  round  their 
necks.  The  peasant  women  on  their  way  to  the 
cathedral  had  glided  by,  dressed  in  green  skirts  and 
yellow  neckerchiefs.  A  couple  of  travellers  had 
stood  by  the  balustrade  and  looked  at  Etna;  they 
had  been  dressed  in  white.  And  all  the  musicians 
in  uniform,  who  had  been  almost  as  fine  as  Don 
Ferrante,  and  the  shining  instruments,  and  the 
carved  cathedral  facade !  And  the  sunlight,  and 


68  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Mongibello's    snow  top  —  so    near   to-day  that  one 
could  almost  touch  it  —  had  all  been  so  gay. 

Now,  when  the  poor  black  lady  came  into  cnfc 
midst  of  it  all,  they  had  stared  at  her,  and  some  had 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  And  the  children  had 
rushed  down  from  the  steps  of  the  town -hall,  where 
they  were  riding  on  the  railing,  and  had  followed 
her  at  a  few  feet's  distance.  And  even  the  lazy 
Piero,  who  had  been  asleep  in  the  corner  of  the 
balustrade,  had  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  It  had 
been  a  resurrection,  as  if  the  black  Madonna  from 
the  cathedral  had  come  strolling  by. 

But  had  no  one  thought  that  it  was  unkind  that 
all  stared  at  the  black  lady?  Had  no  one  been 
moved  when  she  came  so  slowly  and  painfully? 

Yes,  yes ;  one  had  been  touched,  and  that  had 
been  Don  Ferrante.  He  had  the  music  in  his  heart ; 
he  was  a  good  man  and  he  thought :  "  Curses  on  all 
those  funds  that  are  gathered  together  for  the  poor, 
and  that  only  bring  people  misfortune !  Is  not  that 
poor  Signorina  Palmeri,  whose  father  has  stolen 
from  a  charitable  fund,  and  who  is  now  so  ashamed 
that  she  dares  not  show  her  face  ? "  And,  as  he 
thought  of  it,  Don  Ferrante  went  towards  the  black 
lady  and  met  her  just  by  the  church  door. 

There  he  made  her  a  bow,  and  mentioned  his 
name.  "If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  Don  Ferrante  had 
said,  "you  are  Signorina  Palmeri.  I  have  a  favor 
to  ask  of  you." 

Then  she  had  started  and  taken  a  step  backwards, 
as  if  to  flee,  but  she  had  waited. 

"It  concerns  my  sister,  Donna  Elisa,"  he  had 
said.  "  She  knew  your  mother,  signorina,  and  she 
is  consumed  with  a  desire  to  make  your  acquaintance. 


DON  FERRANTE  69 

She  is  sitting  here  by  the  Cathedral.  Let  me  take 
you  to  her !  " 

And  then  Don  Ferrante  put  her  hand  on  his  arm 
and  led  her  over  to  Donna  Elisa.  And  she  made 
no  resistance.  Donna  Elisa  would  like  to  see  who 
could  have  resisted  Don  Ferrante  to-day. 

Donna  Elisa  rose  and  went  to  meet  the  black 
lady,  and  throwing  back  her  veil,  kissed  her  on  both 
cheeks. 

But  what  a  face,  what  a  face !  Perhaps  it  was 
not  pretty,  but  it  had  eyes  that  spoke,  eyes  that 
mourned  and  lamented,  even  when  the  whole  face 
smiled.  Yes,  Gaetano  perhaps  would  not  wish  to 
carve  or  paint  a  Madonna  from  that  face,  for  it  was 
too  thin  and  too  pale;  but  it  is  to  be  supposed 
that  our  Lord  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he 
did  not  put  those  eyes  in  a  face  that  was  rosy  and 
round. 

When  Donna  Elisa  kissed  her,  she  laid  her  head 
down  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  few  short  sobs  shook 
her.  Then  she  looked  up  with  a  smile,  and  the 
smile  seemed  to  say:  "Ah,  does  the  world  look  so? 
Is  it  so  beautiful?  Let  me  see  it  and  smile  at  it! 
Can  a  poor  unfortunate  really  dare  to  look  at  it? 
And  to  be  seen  ?  Can  I  bear  to  be  seen  ? " 

All  that  she  had  said  without  a  word,  only  with 
a  smile.  What  a  face,  what  a  face! 

But  here  Gaetano  interrupted  Donna  Elisa. 
"Where  is  she  now?"  he  said.  "I  too  must  see 
her." 

Then  Donna  Elisa  looked  Gaetano  in  the  eyes. 
They  were  glowing  and  clear,  as  if  they  were  filled 
with  fire,  and  a  dark  flush  rose  to  his  temples. 

"You  will  see  her  all   in  good  time,"  she  said, 


70  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

harshly.  And  she  repented  of  every  word  she  had 
said. 

Gaetano  saw  that  she  was  afraid,  and  he  under- 
stood what  she  feared.  It  came  into  his  mind  to 
tell  her  now  that  he  meant  to  go  away,  to  go  all  the 
way  to  America. 

Then  he  understood  that  the  strange  signorina 
must  be  very  dangerous.  Donna  Elisa  was  so  sure 
that  Gaetano  would  fall  in  love  with  her  that  she 
was  almost  glad  to  hear  that  he  meant  to  go  away. 

For  anything  seemed  better  to  her  than  a  penni- 
less daughter-in-law,  whose  father  was  a  thief. 


DON  MATTERS  MISSION  7 1 


VI 

DON   MATTEO'S  MISSION 

ONE  afternoon  the  old  priest,  Don  Matteo,  inserted 
his  feet  into  newly  polished  shoes,  put  on  a  newly 
brushed  soutane,  and  laid  his  cloak  in  the  most 
effective  folds.  His  face  shone  as  he  went  up  the 
street,  and  when  he  distributed  blessings  to  the  old 
women  spinning  by  the  doorposts,  it  was  with  ges- 
tures as  graceful  as  if  he  had  scattered  roses. 

The  street  along  which  Don  Matteo  was  walking 
was  spanned  by  at  least  seven  arches,  as  if  every 
house  wished  to  bind  itself  to  a  neighbor.  It  ran 
small  and  narrow  down  the  mountain ;  it  was  half 
street  and  half  staircase;  the  gutters  were  always 
overflowing,  and  there  were  always  plenty  of  orange- 
skins  and  cabbage-leaves  to  slip  on.  Clothes  hung 
on  the  line,  from  the  ground  up  to  the  sky.  Wet 
shirt-sleeves  and  apron-strings  were  carried  by  the 
wind  right  into  Don  Matteo's  face.  And  it  felt 
horrid  and  wet,  as  if  Don  Matteo  had  been  touched 
by  a  corpse. 

At  the  end  of  the  street  lay  a  little  dark  square, 
and  there  Don  Matteo  saw  an  old  house,  before 
which  he  stopped.  It  was  big,  and  square,  and 
almost  without  windows.  It  had  two  enormous 
flights  of  steps,  and  two  big  doors  with  heavy  locks. 
And  it  had  walls  of  black  lava,  and  a  "loggia," 
where  green  slime  grew  over  the  tiled  floor,  and 


72  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

where  the  spider-webs  were  so  thick  that  the  nimble 
lizards  were  almost  held  fast  in  them. 

Don  Matteo  lifted  the  knocker,  and  knocked  till 
it  thundered.  All  the  women  in  the  street  began 
to  talk,  and  to  question.  All  the  washerwomen  by 
the  fountain  in  the  square  dropped  soap  and  wooden 
clapper,  and  began  to  whisper,  and  ask,  "What  is 
Don  Matteo' s  errand  ?  Why  does  Don  Matteo  knock 
on  the  door  of  an  old,  haunted  house,  where  nobody 
dares  to  live  except  the  strange  signorina,  whose 
father  is  in  prison  ?  " 

But  now  Giannita  opened  the  door  for  Don  Matteo, 
and  conducted  him  through  long  passages,  smelling 
of  mould  and  damp.  In  several  places  in  the  floor 
the  'stones  were  loose,  and  Don  Matteo  could  see 
way  down  into  the  cellar,  where  great  armies  of  rats 
raced  over  the  black  earth  floor. 

As  Don  Matteo  walked  through  the  old  house,  he 
lost  his  good-humor.  He  did  not  pass  by  a  stairway 
without  suspiciously  spying  up  it,  and  he  could  not 
hear  a  rustle  without  starting.  He  was  depressed 
as  before  some  misfortune.  Don  Matteo  thought 
of  the  little  turbaned  Moor  who  was  said  to  show 
himself  in  that  house,  and  even  if  he  did  not  see 
him,  he  might  be  said  to  have  felt  him. 

At  last  Giannita  opened  a  door  and  showed  the 
priest  into  a  room.  The  walls  there  were  bare,  as 
in  a  stable;  the  bed  was  as  narrow  as  a  nun's,  and 
over  it  hung  a  Madonna  that  was  not  worth  thre< 
soldi.  The  priest  stood  and  stared  at  the  little 
Madonna  till  the  tears  rose  to  his  eyes. 

While  he  stood  so  Signorina  Palmeri  came  into 
the  room.  She  kept  her  head  bent  and  moved  slowly, 
as  if  wounded.  When  the  priest  saw  her  he  wished 


DON  MAT  TED'S  MISSION  73 

to  say  to  her:  "You  and  I,  Signorina  Palmeri,  have 
met  in  a  strange  old  house.  Are  you  here  to  study 
the  old  Moorish  inscriptions  or  to  look  for  mosaics 
in  the  cellar?"  For  the  old  priest  was  confounded 
when  he  saw  Signorina  Palmeri.  He  could  not 
understand  that  the  noble  lady  was  poor.  He  could 
not  comprehend  that  she  was  living  in  the  house  of 
the  little  Moor. 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  must  save  her  from 
this  haunted  house,  and  from  poverty.  He  prayed 
to  the  tender  Madonna  for  power  to  save  her. 

Thereupon  he  said  to  the  signorina  that  he  had 
come  with  a  commission  from  Don  Ferrante  Alagona. 
Don  Ferrante  had  confided  to  him  that  she  had 
refused  his  proposal  of  marriage.  Why  was  that? 
Did  she  not  know  that,  although  Don  Ferrante 
seemed  to  be  poor  as  he  stood  in  his  shop,  he  was 
really  the  richest  man  in  Diamante?  And  Don 
Ferrante  was  of  an  old  Spanish  family  of  great  con- 
sideration, both  in  their  native  country  and  in  Sicily. 
And  he  still  owned  the  big  house  on  the  Corso  that 
had  belonged  to  his  ancestors.  She  should  not  have 
said  no  to  him. 

While  Don  Matteo  was  speaking,  he  saw  how  the 
signorina's  face  grew  stiff  and  white.  He  was 
almost  afraid  to  go  on.  He  feared  that  she  was 
going  to  faint. 

It  was  only  with  the  greatest  effort  that  she  was 
able  to  answer  him.  The  words  would  not  pass  her 
lips.  It  seemed  as  if  they  were  too  loathsome  to 
utter.  She  quite  understood,  she  said,  that  Don 
Ferrante  would  like  to  know  why  she  had  refused 
his  proposal.  She  was  infinitely  touched  and  grate- 
ful on  account  of  it,  but  she  could  not  be  his  wife. 


74  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  could  not  marry,  for  she  brought  dishonor  and 
disgrace  with  her  as  a  marriage  portion. 

"If  you  marry  an  Alagona,  dear  signorina,"  said 
Don  Matteo,  "you  need  not  fear  that  any  one  will 
ask  of  what  family  you  are.  It  is  an  honorable  old 
name.  Don  Ferrante  and  his  sister,  Donna  Elisa, 
are  considered  the  first  people  in  Diamante,  although 
they  have  lost  all  the  family  riches,  and  have  to 
keep  a  shop.  Don  Ferrante  knows  well  enough  that 
the  glory  of  the  old  name  would  not  be  tarnished  by 
a  marriage  with  you.  Have  no  scruples  for  that, 
signorina,  if  otherwise  you  may  be  willing  to  marry 
Don  Ferrante." 

But  Signorina  Palmeri  repeated  what  she  had  said. 
Don  Ferrante  should  not  marry  the  daughter  of  a 
convict.  She  sat  pale  and  despairing,  as  if  wishing 
to  practise  saying  those  terrible  words.  She  said 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  enter  a  family  which  would 
despise  her.  She  succeeded  in  saying  it  in  a  hard, 
cold  voice,  without  emotion. 

But  the  more  she  said,  the  greater  became  Don 
Matteo' s  desire  to  help  her.  He  felt  as  if  he  had 
met  a  queen  who  had  been  torn  from  her  throne.  A 
burning  desire  came  over  him  to  set  the  crown  again 
upon  her  head,  and  fasten  the  mantle  about  her 
shoulders. 

Therefore  Don  Matteo  asked  her  if  her  father 
were  not  soon  coming  out  of  prison,  and  he  wondered 
what  he  would  live  on. 

The  signorina  answered  that  he  would  live  on  her 
work. 

Don  Matteo  asked  her  very  seriously  whether  she 
had  thought  how  her  father,  who  had  always  been 
rich,  could  bear  poverty. 


DON  MATTEO' S  MISSION  75 

Then  she  was  silent.  She  tried  to  move  her  lips 
to  answer,  but  could  not  utter  a  sound. 

Don  Matteo  talked  and  talked.  She  looked  more 
and  more  frightened,  but  she  did  not  yield. 

At  last  he  knew  not  what  to  do.  How  could  he 
save  her  from  that  haunted  house,  from  poverty,  and 
from  the  burden  of  dishonor  that  weighed  her  down  ? 
But  then  his  eyes  chanced  to  fall  on  the  little  image 
of  the  Madonna  over  the  bed.  So  the  young  signo- 
rina  was  a  believer. 

The  spirit  of  inspiration  came  to  Don  Matteo. 
He  felt  that  God  had  sent  him  to  save  this  poor 
woman.  When  he  spoke  again,  there  was  a  new 
ring  in  his  voice.  He  understood  that  it  was  not  he 
alone  who  spoke. 

"My  daughter,"  he  said,  and  rose,  "you  will 
marry  Don  Ferrante  for  your  father's  sake!  It  is 
the  Madonna's  will,  my  daughter." 

There  was  something  impressive  in  Don  Matteo*  w 
manner.  No  one  had  ever  seen  him  so  before. 
The  signorina  trembled,  as  if  a  spirit  voice  had 
spoken  to  her,  and  she  clasped  her  hands. 

"Be  a  good  and  faithful  wife  to  Don  Ferrante," 
said  Don  Matteo,  "and  the  Madonna  promises  you 
through  me  that  your  father  will  have  an  old  age 
free  of  care." 

Then  the  signorina  saw  that  it  was  an  inspiration 
which  guided  Don  Matteo.  It  was  God  speaking 
through  him.  And  she  sank  down  on  her  knees, 
and  bent  her  head.  "  I  shall  do  what  you  command," 
she  said. 

But  when  the  priest,  Don  Matteo,  came  out  of  the 
house  of  the  little  Moor  and  went  up  the  street,  he 


?6  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

suddenly  took  out  his  breviary  and  began  to  read. 
And  although  the  wet  clothes  struck  him  on  the 
cheek,  and  the  little  children  and  the  orange-peels 
lay  in  wait  for  him,  he  only  looked  in  his  book.  He 
needed  to  hear  the  great  words  of  God. 

For  within  that  black  house  everything  had 
seemed  certain  and  sure,  but  when  he  came  out  into 
the  sunshine  he  began  to  worry  about  the  promise 
he  had  given  in  the  name  of  the  Madonna. 

Don  Matteo  prayed  and  read,  and  read  and  prayed. 
Might  the  great  God  in  heaven  protect  the  woman, 
who  had  believed  him  and  obeyed  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  prophet ! 

Don  Matteo  turned  the  corner  into  the  Corso. 
He  struck  against  donkeys  on  their  way  home,  with 
travelling  signorinas  on  their  backs;  he  walked 
right  into  peasants  coming  home  from  their  work, 
and  he  pushed  against  the  old  women  spinning,  and 
entangled  their  thread.  At  last  he  came  to  a  little, 
dark  shop. 

It  was  a  shop  without  a  window  which  was  at  the 
corner  of  an  old  palace.  The  threshold  was  a  foot 
high ;  the  floor  was  of  trampled  earth ;  the  door 
almost  always  stood  open  to  let  in  the  light.  The 
counter  was  besieged  by  peasants  and  mule-drivers. 

And  behind  the  counter  stood  Don  Ferrante. 
His  beard  grew  in  tufts ;  his  face  was  in  one  wrinkle ; 
his  voice  was  hoarse  with  rage.  The  peasants 
demanded  an  immoderately  high  payment  for  the 
loads  that  they  had  driven  up  from  Catania. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  77 


VII 
THE   BELLS   OF   SAN   PASQUALE 

THE  people  of  Diamante  soon  perceived  that  Don 
Ferrante's  wife,  Donna  Micaela,  was  nothing  but  a 
great  child.  She  could  never  succeed  in  looking 
like  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  she  really  was  noth- 
ing but  a  child.  And  nothing  else  was  to  be  ex 
pected,  after  the  life  she  had  led. 

Of  the  world  she  had  seen  nothing  but  its 
theatres,  museums,  ball-rooms,  promenades,  and  race 
courses;  and  all  such  are  only  play  places.  She 
had  never  been  allowed  to  go  alone  on  the  street. 
She  had  never  worked.  No  one  had  ever  spoken 
seriously  to  her.  She  had  not  even  been  in  love 
with  any  one. 

After  she  had  moved  into  the  summer  palace  she 
forgot  her  cares  as  gayly  and  easily  as  a  child  would 
have  done.  And  it  appeared  that  she  had  the  play- 
ful disposition  of  a  child,  and  that  she  could  trans- 
form and  change  everything  about  her. 

The  old  dirty  Saracen  town  Diamante  seemed 
like  a  paradise  to  Donna  Micaela.  She  said  that 
she  had  not  been  at  all  surprised  when  Don  Ferrante 
had  spoken  to  her  in  the  square,  nor  when  he  had 
proposed  to  her.  It  seemed  quite  natural  to  her 
that  such  things  should  happen  in  Diamante.  She 
had  seen  instantly  that  Diamante  was  a  town  where 
rich  men  went  and  sought  out  poor,  unfortunate 


78  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

signorinas  to  make  them  mistresses  of  their  black 
lava  palaces. 

She  also  liked  the  summer-palace.  The  faded 
chintz,  a  hundred  years  old,  that  covered  the  furni- 
ture told  her  stories.  And  she  found  a  deep  mean- 
ing in  all  the  love  scenes  between  the  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  on  the  walls. 

She  had  soon  found  out  the  secret  of  Don  Ferrante. 
He  was  no  ordinary  shop-keeper  in  a  side  street. 
He  was  a  man  of  ambition,  who  was  collecting 
money  in  order  to  buy  back  the  family  estate  on 
Etna  and  the  palace  in  Catania  and  the  castle  on  the 
mainland.  And  if  he  went  in  short  jacket  and 
poinied  cap,  like  a  peasant,  it  was  in  order  the 
sooner  to  be  able  to  appear  as  a  grandee  of  Spain 
and  prince  of  Sicily. 

After  they  were  married  Don  Ferrante  always 
used  every  evening  to  put  on  a  velvet  coat,  take 
his  guitar  under  his  arm,  and  place  himself  on  the 
stairway  to  the  gallery  in  the  music-room  in  the 
summer-palace  and  sing  canzoni.  While  he  sang, 
Donna  Micaela  dreamed  that  she  had  been  married 
to  the  noblest  man  in  beautiful  Sicily. 

When  Donna  Micaela  had  been  married  a  few 
months  her  father  was  released  from  prison  and 
came  to  live  at  the  summer  palace  with  his  daughter. 
He  liked  the  life  in  Diamante  and  became  friends 
with  every  one.  He  liked  to  talk  to  the  bee-raisers 
and  vineyard  workers  whom  he  met  at  the  Cafe 
Europa,  and  he  amused  himself  every  day  by  riding 
about  on  the  slopes  of  Etna  to  look  for  antiquities. 

But  he  had  by  no  means  forgiven  his  daughter. 
He  lived  under  her  roof,  but  he  treated  her  like  a 
stranger,  and  never  showed  her  affection.  Donna 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  79 

Micaela  let  him  go  on  and  pretended  not  to  notice 
it.  She  could  not  take  his  anger  seriously  any 
longer.  That  old  man,  whom  she  loved,  believed 
that  he  would  be  able  to  go  on  hating  her  year  after 
year!  He  would  live  near  her,  hear  her  speak,  see 
her  eyes,  be  encompassed  by  her  love,  and  he  could 
continue  to  hate  her!  Ah,  he  knew  neither  her  nor 
himself.  She  used  to  sit  and  imagine  how  it  would 
be  when  he  must  acknowledge  that  he  was  con- 
quered; when  he  must  come  and  show  her  that  he 
loved  her. 

One  day  Donna  Micaela  was  standing  on  her 
balcony  waving  her  hand  to  her  father,  who  rode 
away  on  a  small,  dark-brown  pony,  when  Don  Fci-- 
rante  came  up  from  the  shop  to  speak  to  her.  And 
what  Don  Ferrante  wished  to  say  was  that  he  had 
succeeded  in  getting  her  father  admitted  to  "The 
Brotherhood  of  the  Holy  Heart"  in  Catania. 

But  although  Don  Ferrante  spoke  very  distinctly, 
Donna  Micaela  seemed  not  to  understand  him  at  all. 

He  had  to  repeat  to  her  that  he  had  been  in  Catania 
the  day  before,  and  that  he  had  succeeded  in  getting 
Cavaliere  Palmeri  into  a  brotherhood.  He  was  to 
enter  it  in  a  month. 

She  only  asked :  "  What  does  that  mean  ?  What 
does  that  mean  ? " 

"  Oh,"  said  Don  Ferrante,  "can  I  not  have  wearied 
of  buying  your  father  expensive  wines  from  the 
mainland,  and  may  I  not  sometimes  wish  to  ride 
Domenico? " 

When  he  had  said  that,  he  wished  to  go.  There 
was  nothing  more  to  say. 

"  But  tell  me  first  what  kind  of  a  brotherhood  it 
is,"  she  said. — "What  it  is!  A  lot  of  old  men 


80  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

live  there. "  —  "  Poor  old  men  ?  "  —  "  Oh,  well,  not  so 
rich."  —  "They  do  not  have  a  room  to  themselves,  I 
suppose  ? "  —  "  No,  but  very  big  dormitories. "  — 
"And  they  eat  from  tin  basins  on  a  table  without 
a  cloth  ?"  — "  No,  they  must  be  china."  — "But 
without  a  table-cloth  ?  "  —  "  Lord,  if  the  table  is 
clean ! " 

He  added,  to  silence  her:  "Very  good  people  live 
there.  If  you  like  to  know  it,  it  was  not  without 
hesitation  they  would  receive  Cavaliere  Palmeri." 

Thereupon  Don  Ferrante  went.  His  wife  was  in 
despair,  but  also  very  angry.  She  thought  that  he 
had  divested  himself  of  rank  and  class  and  become 
only  a  plain  shop-keeper. 

She  said  aloud,  although  no  one  heard  her,  that 
the  summer  palace  was  only  a  big,  ugly  old  house, 
and  Diamante  a  poor  and  miserable  town. 

Naturally,  she  would  not  allow  her  father  to  leave 
her.  Don  Ferrante  would  see. 

When  they  had  eaten  their  dinner  Don  Ferrante 
wished  to  go  to  the  Cafe  Europa  and  play  dominoes, 
and  he  looked  about  for  his  hat.  Donna  Micaela 
took  his  hat  and  followed  him  out  to  the  gallery 
that  ran  round  the  court -yard.  When  they  were  far 
enough  from  the  dining-room  for  her  father  not  to 
be  able  to  hear  them,  she  said  passionately :  — 

"  Have  you  anything  against  my  father  ?  "  —  "  He 
is  too  expensive."  —  "But  you  are  rich."  —  "Who 
has  given  you  such  an  idea  ?  Do  you  not  see  how 
I  am  struggling  ?  "  —  "  Save  in  some  other  way. "  — 
"I  shall  save  in  other  ways.  Giannita  has  had  pres- 
ents enough."  —  "No,  economize  on  something  for 
me."  —  "You!  you  are  my  wife;  you  shall  have  it 
as  you  have  it." 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  8l 

She  stood  silent  a  moment.  She  was  thinking 
what  she  could  say  to  frighten  him. 

"  If  I  am  now  your  wife,  do  you  know  why  it  is  ?  " 

—  "  Oh  yes. "  —  "  Do  you  also  know  what  the  priest 
promised  me?"  —  "That  is  his  affair,  but  I  do  what 
I  can. "  — "  You  have  heard,  perhaps,  that  I  broke 
with  all  my  friends  in  Catania  when  I  heard  that 
my  father  had  sought  help  from  them  and  had  not 
got  it. "  —  "I  know  it. "  —  "  And  that  I  came  here  to 
Diamante  that  he   might   escape  from  seeing  them 
and  being  ashamed?"  —  "They  will  not  be  coming 
to  the  brotherhood."  —  "When  you  know  all  this, 
are  you  not  afraid  to  do  anything  against  my  father? ' 

—  "  Afraid  ?     I  am  not  afraid  of  my  wife. " 

"Have  I  not  made  you  happy?"  she  asked. — 
"Yes,  of  course,"  he  answered  indifferently. — 
"Have  you  not  enjoyed  singing  to  me?  Have  you 
not  liked  me  to  have  considered  you  the  most 
generous  man  in  Sicily?  Have  you  not  been  glad 
that  I  was  happy  in  the  old  palace  ?  Why  should  it 
all  come  to  an  end  ?  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  warned  her. 
"  Remember  that  you  are  not  married  to  a  fine  gentle- 
man from  the  Via  Etnea ! "  —  "  Oh,  no ! "  —  "  Up  here 
on  the  mountain  the  ways  are  different.  Here  wives 
obey  their  husbands.  And  we  do  not  care  for  fair 
words.  But  if  we  want  them  we  know  how  to  get 
them." 

She  was  frightened  when  he  spoke  so.  In  a 
moment  she  was  on  her  knees  before  him.  It  was 
dark,  but  enough  light  came  from  the  other  rooms 
for  him  to  see  her  eyes.  In  burning  prayer,  glorious 
as  stars,  they  were  fixed  on  him. 

"  Be  merciful !  You  do  not  know  how  much  I  love 
6 


82 

him!"  Don  Ferrante  laughed.  "You  ought  to 
have  begun  with  that.  Now  you  have  made  me 
angry."  She  still  knelt  and  looked  up  at  him. 
"It  is  well,"  he  said,  "for  you  hereafter  to  know 
how  you  shall  behave."  Still  she  knelt.  Then  he 
asked :  "  Shall  I  tell  him,  or  will  you  ? " 

Donna  Micaela  was  ashamed  that  she  had  humbled 
herself.  She  rose  and  answered  imperiously :  "  I 
shall  tell  him,  but  not  till  the  last  day.  And  you 
shall  not  let  him  notice  anything." 

"No,  I  shall  not,"  he  said,  and  mimicked  her. 
"The  less  talk  about  it,  the  better  for  me." 

But  when  he  was  gone  Donna  Micaela  laughed 
at  Don  Ferrante  for  believing  that  he  could  do 
what  he  liked  with  her  father.  She  knew  some  one 
who  would  help  her. 

In  the  Cathedral  at  Diamante  there  is  a  miracle- 
working  image  of  the  Madonna,  and  this  is  its 
story. 

Long,  long  ago  a  holy  hermit  lived  in  a  cave  on 
Monte  Chiaro.  And  this  hermit  dreamed  one  night 
that  in  the  harbor  of  Catania  lay  a  ship  loaded  with 
images  of  the  saints,  and  among  these  there  was  one 
so  holy  that  Englishmen,  who  are  richer  than  any- 
body else,  would  have  paid  its  weight  in  gold  for  it. 
As  soon  as  the  hermit  awoke  from  this  dream  he 
started  for  Catania.  In  the  harbor  lay  a  ship  loaded 
with  images  of  the  saints,  and  among  the  images 
was  one  of  the  holy  Madonna  that  was  more  holy 
than  all  the  others.  The  hermit  begged  the  captain 
not  to  carry  that  image  away  from  Sicily,  but  to 
give  it  to  him.  But  the  captain  refused.  "  I  shall 
take  it  to  England,"  he  said,  "and  the  Englishmen 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  83 

will  pay  its  weight  in  gold."  The  hermit  renewed 
his  petitions.  At  last  the  captain  had  his  men 
drive  him  on  shore,  and  hoisted  his  sail  to  depart 

It  looked  as  if  the  holy  image  was  to  be  lost  to 
Sicily;  but  the  hermit  knelt  down  on  one  of  the 
lava  blocks  on  the  shore  and  prayed  to  God  that 
it  might  not  be.  And  what  happened?  The  ship 
could  not  go.  The  anchor  was  up,  the  sail  hoisted, 
and  the  wind  fresh;  but  for  three  long  days  the 
ship  lay  as  motionless  as  if  it  had  been  a  rock.  On 
the  third  day  the  captain  took  the  Madonna  image 
and  threw  it  to  the  hermit,  who  still  lay  on  the 
shore.  And  immediately  the  ship  glided  out  of  the 
harbor.  The  hermit  carried  the  image  to  Monte 
Chiaro,  and  it  is  still  in  Diamante,  where  it  has  a 
chapel  and  an  altar  in  the  Cathedral. 

Donna  Micaela  was  now  going  to  this  Madonna 
to  pray  for  her  father. 

She  sought  out  the  Madonna's  chapel,  which  was 
built  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  Cathedral.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  votive  offerings,  with  silver  hearts 
and  pictures  that  had  been  given  by  all  those  who 
had  been  helped  by  the  Madonna  of  Diamante. 

The  image  was  hewn  in  black  marble,  and  when 
Donna  Micaela  saw  it  standing  in  its  niche,  high 
and  dark,  and  almost  hidden  by  a  golden  railing,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  its  face  was  beautiful,  and  that 
it  shone  with  mildness.  And  her  heart  was  filled 
with  hope. 

Here  was  the  powerful  queen  of  heaven ;  here  was 
the  good  Mother  Mary;  here  was  the  afflicted 
mother  who  understood  every  sorrow ;  here  was  one 
who  would  not  allow  her  father  to  be  taken  from  her. 

Here  she  would  find  help.     She  would  need  only 


84  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

to  fall  on  her  knees  and  tell  her  trouble,  to  have  the 
black  Madonna  come  to  her  assistance. 

While  she  prayed  she  felt  certain  that  Don 
Ferrante  was  even  at  that  moment  changing  his 
mind.  When  she  came  home  he  would  come  to 
meet  her  and  say  to  her  that  she  might  keep  her 
father. 

It  was  a  morning  three  weeks  later. 

Donna  Micaela  came  out  of  the  summer  palace  to 
go  to  early  mass;  but  before  she  set  out  to  the 
church,  she  went  into  Donna  Elisa's  shop  to  buy  a 
wax  candle.  It  was  so  early  that  she  had  been 
afraid  that  the  shop  would  not  be  open ;  but  it  was, 
and  she  was  glad  to  be  able  to  take  a  gift  with  her 
to  the  black  Madonna. 

The  shop  was  empty  when  Donna  Micaela  came 
in,  and  she  pushed  the  door  forward  and  back  to 
make  the  bell  ring  and  call  Donna  Elisa  in.  At 
last  some  one  came,  but  it  was  not  Donna  Elisa;  it 
was  a  young  man. 

That  young  man  was  Gaetano,  whom  Donna 
Micaela  scarcely  knew.  For  Gaetano  had  heard  so 
much  about  her  that  he  was  afraid  to  meet  her,  and 
every  time  she  had  come  over  to  Donna  Elisa  he  had 
shut  himself  into  his  workshop.  Donna  Micaela 
knew  no  more  about  him  than  that  he  was  to  leave 
Diamante,  and  that  he  was  always  carving  holy 
images  for  Donna  Elisa  to  have  something  to  sell 
while  he  was  earning  great  fortunes  away  in 
Argentina. 

When  she  now  saw  Gaetano,  she  found  him  so 
handsome  that  it  made  her  glad  to  look  at  him.  She 
was  full  of  anxiety  as  a  hunted  animal,  but  no  sorrow 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  85 

in  the  world  could  prevent  her  from  feeling  joy  at 
the  sight  of  anything  so  beautiful. 

She  asked  herself  where  she  had  seen  him  before, 
and  she  remembered  that  she  had  seen  his  face  in 
her  father's  wonderful  collection  of  pictures  in  the 
palace  at  Catania.  There  he  had  not  been  in  work- 
ing blouse;  he  had  had  a  black  felt  hat  with  long, 
flowing,  white  feathers,  and  a  broad  lace  collar  over 
a  velvet  coat.  And  he  had  been  painted  by  the 
great  master  Van  Dyck. 

Donna  Micaela  asked  Gaetano  for  a  wax  candle, 
and  he  began  to  look  for  one.  And  now,  strangely 
enough,  Gaetano,  who  saw  the  little  shop  every  day, 
seemed  to  be  quite  strange  there.  He  looked  for 
the  wax  candle  in  the  drawers  of  rosaries  and  in  the 
little  medallion  boxes.  He  could  not  find  anything, 
and  he  grew  so  impatient  that  he  turned  out  the 
drawers  and  broke  the  boxes  open.  The  destruction 
and  disorder  were  terrible.  And  it  would  be  a  real 
grief  to  Donna  Elisa  when  she  came  home. 

But  Donna  Micaela  liked  to  see  how  he  shook  the 
thick  hair  back  from  his  face,  and  how  his  gold- 
colored  eyes  glowed  like  yellow  wine  when  the  sun 
shines  through  it.  It  was  a  consolation  to  see  any 
one  so  beautiful. 

Then  Donna  Micaela  asked  pardon  of  the  noble 
gentlemen  whom  the  great  Van  Dyck  had  painted. 
For  she  had  often  said  to  them :  "  Ah,  signer,  you 
have  been  beautiful,  but  you  never  could  have  been 
so  dark  and  so  pale  and  so  melancholy.  And  you 
did  not  possess  such  eyes  of  fire.  All  that  the 
master  who  painted  you  has  put  into  your  face." 
But  when  Donna  Micaela  saw  Gaetano  she  found 
that  it  all  could  be  in  a  face,  and  that  the  master 


86  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

had  not  needed  to  add  anything.  Therefore  she 
asked  the  noble  old  gentlemen's  pardon. 

At  last  Gaetano  had  found  the  long  candle-boxes 
that  stood  under  the  counter,  where  they  had  always 
stood.  And  he  gave  her  the  candle,  but  he  did  not 
know  what  it  cost,  and  said  that  she  could  come  in 
and  pay  it  later.  When  she  asked  him  for  some- 
thing to  wrap  it  in  he  was  in  such  trouble  that  she 
had  to  help  him  to  look. 

It  grieved  her  that  such  a  man  should  think  of 
travelling  to  Argentina. 

He  let  Donna  Micaela  wrap  up  the  candle  and 
watched  her  while  she  did  it.  She  wished  she  could 
have  asked  him  not  to  look  at  her  now,  when  her 
face  reflected  only  hopelessness  and  misery. 

Gaetano  had  not  scrutinized  her  features  more 
than  a  moment  before  he  sprang  up  on  a  little  step- 
ladder,  took  down  an  image  from  the  topmost  shelf, 
and  came  back  with  it  to  her.  It  was  a  little  gilded 
and  painted  wooden  angel,  a  little  San  Michele 
righting  with  the  arch-fiend,  which  he  had  created 
from  paper  and  wadding. 

He  handed  it  to  Donna  Micaela  and  begged  her  to 
accept  it.  He  wished  to  give  it  to  her,  he  said, 
because  it  was  the  best  he  had  ever  carved.  He 
was  so  certain  that  it  had  greater  power  than  his 
other  images  that  he  had  put  it  away  on  the  top 
shelf,  so  that  no  one  might  see  and  buy  it.  He 
had  forbidden  Donna  Elisa  to  sell  it  except  to  one 
who  had  a  great  sorrow.  And  now  Donna  Micaela 
was  to  take  it. 

She  hesitated.     She  found  him  almost  too  daring. 

But  Gaetano  begged  her  to  look  how  well  the 
image  was  carved.  She  saw  that  the  archangel's 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  87 

wings  were  ruffled  with  anger,  and  that  Lucifer  was 
pressing  his  claws  into  the  steel  plate  on  his  leg? 
Did  she  see  how  San  Michele  was  driving  in  his 
spear,  and  how  he  was  frowning  and  pressing  his 
lips  together? 

He  wished  to  lay  the  little  image  in  her  hand,  but 
she  gently  pushed  it  away.  She  saw  that  it  was 
beautiful  and  spirited,  she  said,  but  she  knew  that 
it  could  not  help  her.  She  thanked  him  for  his 
gift,  but  she  would  not  accept  it. 

Then  Gaetano  seized  the  image  and  rolled  it  in 
paper  and  put  it  back  in  its  place. 

And  not  until  it  was  wrapped  up  and  put  away 
did  he  speak  to  her. 

But  then  he  asked  her  why  she  came  to  buy  wax 
candles  if  she  was  not  a  believer.  Did  she  mean  to 
say  that  she  did  not  believe  in  San  Michele?  Did 
she  not  know  that  he  was  the  most  powerful  of  the 
angels,  and  that  it  was  he  who  had  vanquished 
Lucifer  and  thrown  him  into  Etna?  Did  she  not 
believe  that  it  was  true?  Did  she  not  know  that 
San  Michele  lost  a  wing-feather  in  the  fight,  and 
that  it  was  found  in  Caltanisetta?  Did  she  know  it 
or  not?  Or  what  did  she  mean  by  San  Michele  not 
being  able  to  help  her?  Did  she  think  that  none  of 
the  saints  could  help?  And  he,  who  was  stand- 
ing in  his  workshop  all  day  long,  carving  saints!  — 
would  he  do  such  a  thing  if  there  was  no  good  in  it? 
Did  she  believe  that  he  was  an  impostor? 

But  as  Donna  Micaela  was  just  as  strong  a  be- 
liever as  Gaetano,  she  thought  that  his  speech  was 
unjust,  and  it  irritated  her  to  contradiction. 

"  It  sometimes  happens  that  the  saints  do  not 
help,"  she  said  to  him.  And  when  Gaetano  looked 


88  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

unbelieving,  she  was  seized  by  an  uncontrollable 
desire  to  convince  him,  and  she  said  to  him  that 
some  one  had  promised  her  in  the  name  of  the 
Madonna  that,  if  she  was  a  faithful  wife  to  Don 
Ferrante,  her  father  should  enjoy  an  old  age  free 
of  care.  But  now  her  husband  wished  to  put  her 
father  in  a  brotherhood,  which  was  as  wretched  as  a 
poor-house  and  strict  as  a  prison.  And  the  Madonna 
had  not  averted  it ;  in  eight  days  it  would  happen. 

Gaetano  listened  to  her  with  the  greatest  earnest- 
ness. That  was  what  induced  her  to  confide  the 
whole  story  to  him. 

"Donna  Micaela,"  he  said,  "you  must  turn  to  the 
black  Madonna  in  the  Cathedral." 

"  So  you  think  that  I  have  not  prayed  to  her  ? " 

Gaetano  flushed  and  said  almost  with  anger:  "  You 
will  not  say  that  you  have  turned  in  vain  to  the 
black  Madonna?" 

"  I  have  prayed  to  her  in  vain  these  last  three 
weeks  —  prayed  to  her,  prayed  to  her. " 

When  Donna  Micaela  spoke  of  it  she  could  scarcely 
breathe.  She  wanted  to  weep  over  herself  because 
she  had  awaited  help  each  day,  and  each  day  been 
disappointed ;  and  yet  had  known  nothing  better  to 
do  than  begin  again  with  her  prayers.  And  it  was 
visible  on  her  face  that  her  soul  lived  over  and  over 
again  what  she  had  suffered,  when  each  day  she  had 
awaited  an  answer  to  her  prayer,  while  the  days 
slipped  by. 

But  Gaetano  was  unmoved;  he  stood  smiling,  and 
drummed  on  one  of  the  glass  cases  that  stood  on  the 
counter. 

"Have  you  only  prayed  to  the  Madonna?"  he 
said. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  89 

Only  prayed,  only  prayed !  But  she  had  also 
promised  her  to  lay  aside  all  sins.  She  had  gone  to 
the  street  where  she  had  lived  first,  and  nursed  the 
sick  woman  with  the  ulcerated  leg.  She  never 
passed  a  beggar  without  giving  alms. 

Only  prayed !  And  she  told  him  that  if  the 
Madonna  had  had  the  power  to  help  her,  she  ought 
to  have  been  satisfied  with  her  prayers.  She  had 
spent  her  days  in  the  Cathedral.  And  the  anguish, 
the  anguish  that  tortured  her,  should  not  that  be 
counted  ? 

He  only  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Had  she  not 
tried  anything  else? 

Anything  else !  But  there  was  nothing  in  the 
world  that  she  had  not  tried.  She  had  given  silver 
hearts  and  wax  candles.  Her  rosary  was  never  out 
of  her  hand. 

Gaetano  irritated  her.  He  would  not  count  any- 
thing that  she  had  done;  he  only  asked:  "Nothing 
else?  Nothing  else?" 

"But  you  ought  to  understand,"  she  said.  "Don 
Ferrante  does  not  give  me  so  much  money.  I  can- 
not do  more.  At  last  I  have  succeeded  in  getting 
some  silk  and  cloth  for  an  altar  cloth.  You  ought 
to  understand ! " 

But  Gaetano,  who  had  daily  intercourse  with  the 
saints,  and  who  knew  the  power  and  wildness  of 
enthusiasm  that  had  filled  them  when  they  had 
compelled  God  to  obey  their  prayers,  smiled  scorn- 
fully at  Donna  Micaela,  who  thought  she  could  sub- 
jugate the  Madonna  with  wax  candles  and  altar- 
cloths. 

He  understood  very  well,  he  answered.  The 
whole  was  clear  to  him.  It  was  always  so  with 


90  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

those  miserable  saints.  Everybody  called  to  them 
for  help,  but  few  understood  what  they  ought  to  do 
to  get  their  prayers  granted.  And  then  people  said 
that  the  saints  had  no  power.  All  were  helped  who 
knew  how  they  ought  to  pray. 

Donna  Micaela  looked  up  in  eager  expectation. 
There  was  such  strength  and  conviction  in  Gaetano's 
words  that  she  began  to  believe  that  he  would  teach 
her  the  right  words  of  salvation. 

Gaetano  took  the  candle  lying  in  front  of  her  on 
the  counter  and  threw  it  down  into  the  box  again, 
and  told  her  what  she  had  to  do.  He  forbade  her 
to  give  the  Madonna  any  gifts,  or  to  pray  to  her,  or 
to  do  anything  for  the  poor.  He  told  her  that  he 
would  tear  her  altar-cloth  to  pieces  if  she  sewed 
another  stitch  on  it. 

"  Show  her,  Donna  Micaela,  that  it  means  some- 
thing to  you,"  he  said,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  her 
with  compelling  force.  "  Good  Lord,  you  must  be 
able  to  find  something  to  do,  to  show  her  that  it  is 
serious,  and  not  play.  You  must  be  able  to  show 
her  that  you  will  not  live  if  you  are  not  helped. 
Do  you  mean  to  continue  to  be  faithful  to  Don 
Ferrante,  if  he  sends  your  father  away?  I  know 
you  do.  If  the  Madonna  has  no  need  to  fear  what 
you  are  going  to  do,  why  should  she  help  you  ?  " 

Donna  Micaela  drew  back.  He  came  swiftly  out 
from  behind  the  counter  and  seized  her  coat  sleeve. 

"Do  you  understand?  You  shall  show  her  that 
you  can  throw  yourself  away  if  you  do  not  get  help. 
You  shall  throw  yourself  into  sin  and  death  if  you 
do  not  get  what  you  want.  That  is  the  way  to  force 
the  saints." 

She   tore  herself  from  him  and  went  without  a 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  FASQUALE  91 

word.  She  hurried  up  the  spiral  street,  came  to 
the  Cathedral,  and  threw  herself  down  in  terror 
before  the  altar  of  the  black  Madonna. 

That  happened  one  Saturday  morning,  and  on 
Sunday  evening  Donna  Micaela  saw  Gaetano  again. 
For  it  was  beautiful  moonlight,  and  in  Diamante  it 
is  the  custom  on  moonlight  nights  for  all  to  leave 
their  homes  and  go  out  into  the  streets.  As  soon 
as  the  inhabitants  of  the  summer  palace  had  come 
outside  their  door  they  had  met  acquaintances. 
Donna  Elisa  had  taken  Cavaliere  Palmeri's  arm, 
and  the  syndic  Voltaro  had  joined  Don  Ferrante  to 
discuss  the  elections;  but  Gaetano  came  up  to 
Donna  Micaela  because  he  wished  to  hear  if  she  had 
followed  his  advice. 

"  Have  you  stopped  sewing  on  that  altar-cloth  ?  " 
he  said. 

But  Donna  Micaela  answered  that  all  day  yester- 
day she  had  sewn  on  it. 

"Then  it  is  you  who  understand  what  you  are 
doing,  Donna  Micaela." 

"Yes,  now  there  is  no  help  for  it,  Don  Gaetano." 

She  managed  to  keep  them  away  from  the  others, 
for  there  was  something  she  wished  to  speak  to  him 
about.  And  when  they  came  to  Porta  Etnea,  she 
turned  out  through  the  gate,  and  they  went  along 
the  paths  that  wind  under  Monte  Chiaro's  palm 
groves. 

They  could  not  have  walked  on  the  streets  filled 
with  people.  Donna  Micaela  spoke  so  the  people 
in  Diamante  would  have  stoned  her  if  they  had 
heard  her. 

She  asked  Gaetano  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  black 
Madonna  in  the  Cathedral.  She  had  not  seen  her 


9-2  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

till  yesterday.  The  Madonna  perhaps  had  placed 
herself  in  such  a  dark  corner  of  the  Cathedral  so  that 
no  one  should  be  able  to  see  her.  She  was  so  black, 
and  had  a  railing  in  front  of  her.  No  one  could  see 
her. 

But  to-day  Donna  Micaela  had  seen  her.  To-day 
the  Madonna  had  had  a  festival,  and  she  had  been 
moved  from  her  niche.  The  floor  and  walls  of  her 
chapel  had  been  covered  with  white  almond-blossoms, 
and  she  herself  had  stood  down  on  the  altar,  dark 
and  high,  surrounded  by  the  white  glory. 

But  when  Donna  Micaela  had  seen  the  image  she 
had  been  filled  with  despair;  for  the  image  was  no 
Madonna.  No,  she  had  prayed  to  no  Madonna. 
Oh,  a  shame,  a  shame  !  It  was  plainly  an  old  heathen 
goddess.  She  had  a  helmet,  not  a  crown ;  she  had 
no  child  on  her  arm;  she  had  a  shield.  It  was  a 
Pallas  Athene.  It  was  no  Madonna.  Oh,  no ;  oh,  no ! 

It  was  like  the  people  of  Diamante  to  worship 
such  an  image.  It  was 'like  them  to  set  up  such  a 
blasphemy  and  worship  it !  Did  he  know  what  was 
the  worst  misfortune?  Their  Madonna  was  so  ugly. 
She  was  disfigured,  and  she  had  never  been  a  work 
of  art.  She  was  so  ugly  that  one  could  not  bear  to 
look  at  her. 

And  to  have  been  deceived  by  all  the  thousand 
votive  offerings  that  hung  in  the  chapel;  to  have 
been  fooled  by  all  the  legends  about  her!  To  have 
wasted  three  weeks  in  praying  to  her!  Why  had 
she  not  been  helped?  She  was  no  Madonna,  she 
was  no  Madonna. 

They  walked  along  the  path  on  the  town  wall 
running  around  Monte  Chiaro.  The  whole  world 
was  white  about  them.  A  white  mist  wreathed  the 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  93 

base  of  the  mountain,  and  the  almond-trees  on  Etna 
were  quite  white.  Sometimes  they  passed  under  an 
almond-tree,  which  arched  them  over  with  its  glisten- 
ing branches,  as  thickly  covered  with  flowers  as  if 
they  had  been  dipped  in  a  bath  of  silver.  The 
moonlight  shone  so  bright  on  the  earth  that  every- 
thing was  divested  of  its  color,  and  became  white. 
It  seemed  almost  strange  that  it  could  not  be  felt, 
that  it  did  not  warm,  that  it  did  not  dazzle  the  eyes. 

Donna  Micaela  wondered  if  it  was  the  moonlight 
that  subdued  Gaetano,  so  that  he  did  not  seize  her, 
and  throw  her  down  into  Simeto,  when  she  cursed 
the  black  Madonna. 

He  walked  silent  and  quiet  at  her  side,  but  she 
was  afraid  of  what  he  might  do.  In  spite  of  her 
fear,  she  could  not  be  silent. 

What  she  had  still  to  say  was  the  most  dreadful 
of  all.  She  said  that  she  had  tried  all  day  long  to 
think  of  the  real  Madonna,  and  that  she  had  recalled 
to  her  mind  all  the  images  of  her  she  had  ever  seen. 
But  it  had  all  been  in  vain,  because  as  soon  as  she 
thought  of  the  shining  queen  of  heaven,  the  old 
black  goddess  came  and  placed  herself  between 
them.  She  saw  her  come  like  a  dried-up  and 
officious  old  maid,  and  stand  in  front  of  the  great 
queen  of  heaven,  so  that  now  no  Madonna  existed 
for  her  any  longer.  She  believed  that  the  latter  was 
angry  with  her  because  she  had  done  so  much  for 
the  other,  and  that  she  hid  her  face  and  her  grace 
from  her.  And,  on  account  of  the  false  Madonna, 
her  father  was  now  to  suffer  misfortune.  Now  she 
would  never  be  allowed  to  keep  him  in  her  home. 
Now  she  would  never  win  his  forgiveness.  Oh, 
God!  oh,  God! 


94  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

And  all  this  she  said  to  Gaetano,  who  honored  the 
black  Madonna  of  Diamante  more  than  anything  else 
in  the  world. 

He  now  came  close  up  to  Donna  Micaela,  and  she 
feared  that  it  was  her  last  hour.  She  said  in  a  faint 
voice,  as  if  to  excuse  herself :  "  I  am  mad.  Grief  is 
driving  me  mad.  I  never  sleep." 

But  Gaetano's  only  thought  had  been  what  a  child 
she  was,  and  that  she  did  not  at  all  understand  how 
to  meet  life. 

He  hardly  knew  himself  what  he  was  doing  when 
he  gently  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her,  because 
she  had  gone  so  astray  and  was  such  a  helpless 
child. 

She  was  so  overcome  with  astonishment  that  she 
did  not  even  think  of  avoiding  it.  And  she  neither 
screamed  nor  ran  away.  She  understood  instantly 
that  he  had  kissed  her  as  he  would  a  child.  She 
only  walked  quickly  on  and  began  to  cry.  That  kiss 
had  made  her  feel  how  helpless  and  forsaken  she 
was,  and  how  much  she  longed  for  some  one  strong 
and  good  to  take  care  of  her. 

It  was  terrible  that,  although  she  had  both  father 
and  husband,  she  should  be  so  forsaken  that  this 
stranger  should  need  to  feel  sympathy  for  her. 

When  Gaetano  saw  her  trembling  with  silent  sobs,, 
he  felt  that  he  too  began  to  shake.  A  strong  and 
violent  emotion  took  possession  of  him. 

He  came  close  to  her  once  more  and  laid  his  hand 
on  her  arm.  And  his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  was 
not  clear  and  loud;  it  was  thick  and  choked  with 
emotion. 

"Will  you  go  with  me  to  Argentina  if  the 
Madonna  does  not  help  you  ? " 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  95 

Then  Donna  Micaela  shook  him  off.  She  felt 
suddenly  that  he  no  longer  talked  to  her  as  to  a 
child.  She  turned  and  went  back  into  the  town. 
Gaetano  did  not  follow  her;  he  remained  standing 
in  the  path  where  he  had  kissed  her,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  never  again  could  he  leave  that  place. 

For  two  days  Gaetano  dreamed  of  Donna  Micaela, 
but  on  the  third  he  came  to  the  summer  palace  to 
speak  to  her. 

He  found  her  on  the  roof-garden,  and  instantly  told 
her  that  she  must  flee  with  him. 

He  had  thought  it  out  since  they  parted.  He  had 
stood  in  his  workshop  and  considered  everything 
that  had  happened,  and  now  it  was  all  clear  to 
him. 

She  was  a  rose  which  the  strong  sirocco  had  torn 
from  its  stem  and  roughly  whirled  through  the  air, 
that  she  might  find  so  much  the  better  rest  and 
protection  in  a  heart  which  loved  her.  She  must 
understand  that  God  and  all  the  saints  wished  and 
desired  that  they  should  love  one  another,  otherwise 
these  great  misfortunes  would  not  have  brought  her 
near  to  him.  If  the  Madonna  refused  to  help  her, 
it  was  because  she  wished  to  set  her  free  from 
her  promise  of  faithfulness  to  Don  Ferrante.  For 
all  the  saints  knew  that  she  was  his,  Gaetano's. 
She  was  created  for  him ;  for  him  she  had  grown  up; 
for  him  she  was  alive.  When  he  kissed  her  in  the 
path  in  the  moonlight  he  had  been  like  a  lost  child 
who  had  wandered  long  in  the  desert  and  now  at  last 
had  come  to  the  gate  of  his  home.  He  possessed 
nothing;  but  she  was  his  home  and  his  hearth;  she 
was  the  inheritance  God  had  apportioned  to  him, 
the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  was  his. 


9<5  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Therefore  he  could  not  leave  her  behind.  She 
must  go  with  him ;  she  must,  she  must ! 

He  did  not  kneel  before  her.  He  stood  and  talked 
to  her  with  clenched  hands  and  blazing  eyes.  He 
did  not  ask  her,  he  commanded  her  to  go  with  him, 
because  she  was  his. 

It  was  no  sin  to  take  her  away;  it  was  his  duty. 
What  would  become  of  her  if  he  deserted  her? 

Donna  Micaela  listened  to  him  without  moving. 
She  sat  silent  a  long  time,  even  after  he  had  ceased 
speaking. 

"When  are  you  going?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"I  leave  Diamante  on  Saturday." 

"  And  when  does  the  steamer  go  ?  " 

"It  goes  on  Sunday  evening  from  Messina." 

Donna  Micaela  rose  and  walked  away  towards  the 
terrace  stairs. 

"My  father  is  to  go  to  Catania  on  Saturday,"  she 
said.  "  I  shall  ask  Don  Ferrante  to  be  allowed  to 
go  with  him."  She  went  down  a  few  steps,  as  if 
she  did  not  mean  to  say  anything  more.  Then  she 
stopped.  "  If  you  meet  me  in  Catania,  I  will  go 
with  you  whither  you  will." 

She  hurried  down  the  steps.  Gaetano  did  not  try 
to  detain  her.  A  time  would  come  when  she  would 
not  run  away  from  him.  He  knew  that  she  could 
not  help  loving  him. 

Donna  Micaela  passed  the  whole  of  Friday  after- 
noon in  the  Cathedral.  She  had  come  to  the 
Madonna  and  thrown  herself  down  before  her  in 
despair.  "Oh,  Madonna  mia,  Madonna  mia!  Shall 
I  be  to-morrow  a  fugitive  wife?  Will  the  world 
have  the  right  to  say  all  possible  evil  of  me?" 
Everything  seemed  equally  terrible  to  her.  She  was 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  97 

appalled  at  the  thought  of  fleeing  with  Gaetano,  and 
she  did  not  know  how  she  could  stay  with  Don  Fer- 
rante.  She  hated  the  one  as  much  as  the  other. 
Neither  of  them  seemed  able  to  offer  her  anything 
but  unhappiness. 

She  saw  that  the  Madonna  would  not  help.  And 
now  she  asked  herself  if  it  really  would  not  be  a 
greater  misery  to  go  with  Gaetano  than  to  remain 
with  Don  Ferrante.  Was  it  worth  while  to  ruin 
herself  to  be  revenged  on  her  husband? 

She  suffered  great  anguish.  She  had  been  driven 
on  by  a  devouring  restlessness  the  whole  week. 
Worst  of  all,  she  could  not  sleep.  She  no  longer 
thought  clearly  or  soundly. 

Time  and  time  again  she  returned  to  her  prayers. 
But  then  she  thought :  "  The  Madonna  cannot  help 
me."  And  so  she  stopped. 

Then  she  came  to  think  of  the  days  of  her  former 
sorrows,  and  remembered  the  little  image  that  once 
had  helped  her,  when  she  had  been  in  despair  as 
great  as  this. 

She  turned  with  passionate  eagerness  to  the  poor 
little  child.  "  Help  me,  help  me !  Help  my  old 
father,  and  help  me  myself  that  I  may  not  be 
tempted  to  anger  and  revenge ! " 

When  she  went  to  bed  that  night,  she  was  still 
tormented  and  distressed.  "  If  I  could  sleep  only  one 
hour,"  she  said,  "I  should  know  what  I  wanted." 

Gaetano  was  to  start  on  his  travels  early  the  next 
morning.  She  came  at  last  to  the  decision  to  speak 
to  him  before  he  left,  and  tell  him  that  she  could 
not  go  with  him.  She  could  not  bear  to  be  con- 
sidered a  fallen  woman. 

She  had  hardly  decided  that  before  she  fell  asleep. 
.7 


98  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  did  not  wake  till  the  clock  struck  nine  the  next 
morning.  And  then  Gaetano  was  already  gone. 
She  could  not  tell  him  that  she  had  changed  her 
mind. 

But  she  did  not  think  of  it  either.  During  her 
sleep  something  new  and  strange  had  come  over  her. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  in  the  night  she  had  lived  in 
heaven  and  was  filled  with  bliss. 

What  saint  is  there  who  does  more  for  man  than 
San  Pasquale?  Does  it  not  sometimes  happen  to 
you  to  stand  and  talk  in  some  lonely  place  in  the 
woods  or  plains,  and  either  to  speak  ill  of  some  one 
or  to  make  plans  for  something  foolish  ?  Now  please 
notice  that  just  as  you  are  talking  and  talking  you 
hear  a  rustling  near  by,  and  look  round  in  wonder  to 
see  if  some  one  has  thrown  a  stone.  It  is  useless  to 
look  about  long  for  the  thrower  of  the  stone.  It 
comes  from  San  Pasquale.  As  surely  as  there  is 
justice  in  heaven,  it  was  San  Pasquale  who  heard 
you  talking  evil,  and  threw  one  of  his  stones  in 
warning. 

And  any  one  who  does  not  like  to  be  disturbed  in 
his  evil  schemes  may  not  console  himself  with  the 
thought  that  San  Pasquale's  stones  will  soon  come 
to  an  end.  They  will  not  come  to  an  end  at  all. 
There  are  so  many  of  them  that  they  will  hold  out 
till  the  last  day  of  the  world.  For  when  San  Pasquale 
lived  here  on  the  earth,  do  you  know  by  chance 
what  he  did,  do  you  know  what  he  thought  about 
more  than  anything  else?  San  Pasquale  gave  heed 
to  all  the  little  flint-stones  that  lay  in  his  path,  and 
gathered  them  up  into  his  bag.  You,  signor,  you 
will  scarcely  stoop  to  pick  up  a  soldo,  but  San 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE  99 

Pasquale  picked  up  every  little  flint-stone,  and  when 
he  died,  he  took  them  all  with  him  up  to  heaven, 
and  there  he  sits  now,  and  throws  them  at  everybody 
who  thinks  of  doing  anything  foolish. 

But  that  is  not  by  any  means  the  only  use  that  San 
Pasquale  is  to  man.  It  is  he,  also,  who  gives  warn- 
ing if  any  one  is  to  be  married,  or  if  any  one  is  to 
die;  and  he  even  gives  the  sign  with  something 
besides  stones.  Old  Mother  Saraedda  at  Randazzo 
sat  by  her  daughter's  sick  bed  one  night  and  fell 
asleep.  The  daughter  lay  unconscious  and  was  about 
to  die,  and  no  one  could  summon  the  priest.  How 
was  the  mother  waked  in  time?  How  was  she 
waked,  so  that  she  could  send  her  husband  to  the 
priest's  house?  By  nothing  else  than  a  chair,  which 
began  to  rock  forward  and  back,  and  to  crack  and 
creak,  until  she  awoke.  And  it  was  San  Pasquale 
who  did  it.  Who  else  but  San  Pasquale  is  there  to 
think  of  such  a  thing? 

There  is  one  thing  more  to  tell  about  San  Pasquale. 
It  was  of  big  Cristoforo  from  Tre  Castagni.  He 
was  not  a  bad  man,  but  he  had  a  bad  habit.  He 
could  not  open  his  mouth  without  swearing.  He  could 
not  say  two  words  without  one  of  them  being  an 
oath.  And  do  you  think  that  it  did  any  good  for 
his  wife  and  neighbors  to  admonish  him?  But  over 
his  bed  he  had  a  little  picture  representing  San 
Pasquale,  and  the  little  picture  succeeded  in  helping 
him.  Every  night  it  swung  forward  and  back  in  its 
frame,  swung  fast  or  slow,  as  he  had  sworn  that  day. 
And  he  discovered  that  he  could  not  sleep  a  single 
night  until  he  stopped  swearing. 

In  Diamante  San  Pasquale  has  a  church,  which 
•lies  outside  the  Porta  Etnea,  a  little  way  down  the 


100          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

mountain.  It  is  quite  small  and  poor,  but  the  white 
walls  and  the  red  roof  stand  beautifully  embedded 
in  a  grove  of  almond-trees. 

Therefore,  as  soon  as  the  almond-trees  bloom  in 
the  spring,  San  Pasquale's  church  becomes  the  most 
beautiful  in  Diamante.  For  the  blossoming  branches 
arch  over  it,  thickly  covered  with  white,  glistening 
flowers,  like  the  most  gorgeous  garment. 

San  Pasquale's  church  is  very  miserable  and  de- 
serted, because  no  service  can  be  held  there.  For 
when  the  Garibaldists,  who  freed  Sicily,  came  to 
Diamante,  they  camped  in  San  Pasquale's  church 
and  in  the  Franciscan  monastery  beside  it.  And  in 
the  church  itself  they  stabled  brute  beasts,  and  led 
such  a  wild  life  with  women  and  with  gambling 
that  ever  since  it  has  been  considered  unhallowed 
and  unclean,  and  has  never  been  opened  for  divine 
service  from  that  time. 

Therefore  it  is  only  when  the  almond-trees  are  in 
bloom  that  strangers  and  fine  people  pay  attention 
to  San  Pasquale.  For  although  the  whole  of  the 
slopes  of  Etna  are  white  then  with  almond-blossoms, 
still  the  biggest  and  the  most  luxuriant  trees  stand 
about  the  old,  condemned  church. 

But  the  poor  people  of  Diamante  come  to  San 
Pasquale  the  whole  year  round.  For  although  the 
church  is  always  closed,  people  go  there  to  get 
advice  from  the  saint.  There  is  an  image  of  him 
under  a  big  stone  canopy  just  by  the  entrance,  and 
people  come  to  ask  him  about  the  future.  No  one 
can  foretell  the  future  better  than  San  Pasquale. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  very  morning  when 
Gaetano  left  Diamante  the  clouds  had  come  rolling 
down  from  Etna,  as  thick  as  if  they  had  been  dust 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE          IOI 

from  innumerable  hosts,  and  they  filled  the  air  like 
dark- winged  dragons,  and  vomited  forth  rain,  and 
breathed  mists  and  darkness.  It  grew  so  thick 
over  Diamante  that  one  could  scarcely  see  across 
the  street.  The  dampness  dripped  from  every- 
thing; the  floor  was  as  wet  as  the  roof,  the  door- 
posts and  balustrades  were  covered  with  drops,  the 
fog  stood  and  quivered  in  the  passage-ways  and 
rooms,  until  one  would  have  thought  them  full  of 
smoke. 

That  very  morning,  at  an  early  hour,  before  the 
rain  had  begun,  a  rich  English  lady  started  in  her 
big  travelling-carriage  to  make  the  trip  round  Etna. 
But  when  she  had  driven  a  few  hours  a  terrible 
rain  began,  and  everything  was  wrapped  in  mist. 
As  she  did  not  wish  to  miss  seeing  any  of  the  beau- 
tiful district  through  which  she  was  travelling,  she 
determined  to  drive  to  the  nearest  town  and  to  stay 
there  until  the  storm  was  over.  That  town  was 
Diamante. 

The  Englishwoman  was  a  Miss  Tottenham,  and 
it  was  she  who  had  moved  into  the  Palazzo  Palmeri 
at  Catania.  Among  all  the  other  things  she  brought 
with  her  in  her  trunks  was  the  Christ  image,  upon 
which  Donna  Micaela  had  called  the  evening  before. 
For  that  image,  which  was  now  both  old  and  mis- 
handled, she  always  carried  with  her,  in  memory  of 
an  old  friend  who  had  left  her  her  wealth. 

It  seemed  as  if  San  Pasquale  had  known  what  a 
great  miracle-worker  the  image  was,  for  it  was  as  if 
he  wished  to  greet  him.  Just  as  Miss  Tottenham's 
travelling-carriage  drove  in  through  Porta  Etnea, 
the  bells  began  to  ring  on  San  Pasquale' s  church. 

They  rang  afterwards  all  day  quite  by  themselves. 


102  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

San  Pasquale's  bells  are  not  much  bigger  than 
those  that  are  used  on  farms  to  call  the  work  people 
home;  and  like  them,  they  are  hung  under  the  roof 
in  a  little  frame,  and  set  in  motion  by  pulling  a  rope 
that  hangs  down  by  the  church  wall. 

It  is  not  heavy  work  to  make  the  bells  ring, 
but  nevertheless  they  are  not  so  light  that  they 
can  swing  quite  by  themselves.  Whoever  has 
seen  old  Fra  Felice  from  the  Franciscan  monas- 
tery put  his  foot  in  the  loop  of  the  rope  and  tread 
up  and  down  to  start  them  going,  knows  well 
enough  that  the  bells  cannot  begin  to  ring  without 
assistance. 

But  that  was  just  what  they  were  doing  that  morn- 
ing. The  rope  was  fastened  to  a  cleat  in  the  wall, 
and  there  was  no  one  touching  it.  Nor  did  any  one 
sit  crouching  on  the  roof  to  set  them  going.  People 
plainly  saw  how  the  bells  swung  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  how  the  tongues  hit  against  the  brazen 
throats.  It  could  not  be  explained. 

When  Donna  Micaela  awoke,  the  bells  were 
already  ringing,  and  she  lay  quiet  for  a  long  time, 
and  listened,  and  listened.  She  had  never  heard 
anything  more  beautiful.  She  did  not  know  that  it 
was  a  miracle,  but  she  lay  and  thought  how  beauti- 
ful it  was.  She  lay  and  wondered  if  real  bronze  bells 
could  sound  like  that. 

No  one  will  ever  know  what  the  metal  was  that 
rang  in  San  Pasquale's  bells  that  day. 

She  thought  that  the  bells  said  to  her  that  now 
she  was  to  be  glad;  now  she  was  to  live  and  love; 
now  she  was  to  go  to  meet  something  great  and 
beautiful;  now  she  was  never  again  to  have  regrets 
and  never  be  sad. 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE          103 

Then  her  heart  began  to  dance  in  a  kind  of 
stately  measure,  and  she  marched  solemnly  to  the 
sound  of  bells  into  a  great  castle.  And  to  whom 
could  the  castle  belong,  who  could  be  lord  of  such 
a  beautiful  place,  if  not  love? 

It  can  be  hidden  no  longer:  when  Donna  Micaela 
awoke  she  felt  that  she  loved  Gaetano,  and  that  she 
desired  nothing  better  than  to  go  with  him. 

When  Donna  Micaela  drew  back  the  curtain  from 
the  window  and  saw  the  gray  morning,  she  kissed 
her  hand  to  it  and  whispered :  "  You,  who  are  morn- 
ing to  the  day  when  I  am  going  away,  you  are  the 
most  beautiful  morning  I  have  ever  seen;  and  gray 
as  you  are,  I  will  caress  and  kiss  you." 

But  she  still  liked  the  bells  best. 

By  that  you  may  know  that  her  love  was  strong, 
for  to  all  the  others  it  was  torture  to  hear  those 
bells,  that  would  not  stop  ringing.  No  one  asked 
about  them  during  the  first  half-hour.  During  the 
first  half-hour  people  hardly  heard  any  ringing,  but 
during  the  second  and  the  third ! ! ! 

No  one  need  believe  that  San  Pasquale's  little 
bells  could  not  make  themselves  heard.  They  are 
always  loud  and  their  clang  seemed  now  to  grow 
and  grow.  It  soon  sounded  as  if  the  fog  were  filled 
with  bells;  as  if  the  sky  hung  full  of  them,  although 
no  one  could  see  them  for  the  clouds. 

When  Donna  Elisa  first  heard  the  ringing  she 
thought  that  it  was  San  Giuseppe's  little  bell,  and 
then  that  it  was  the  bell  of  the  Cathedral  itself. 
Then  she  thought  she  heard  the  bell  of  the  Dominican 
monastery  chime  in,  and  at  last  she  was  certain  that 
all  the  bells  in  the  town  rang  and  rang  all  they 
could,  all  the  bells  in  the  five  monasteries  and  the 


104          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

seven  churches.  She  thought  that  she  recognized 
them  all,  until  finally  she  asked,  and  heard  that  it 
was  only  San  Pasquale's  little  bells  that  were 
ringing. 

During  the  first  hours,  and  before  people  generally 
knew  that  the  bells  were  ringing  all  by  themselves, 
they  noticed  that  the  raindrops  fell  in  time  to  the 
sound  of  the  bells,  and  that  every  one  spoke  with  a 
metallic  voice.  People  also  noticed  that  it  was 
impossible  to  play  on  mandolin  and  guitar,  because 
the  bells  blended  with  the  music  and  made  it  ear- 
splitting;  neither  could  any  one  read,  because  the 
letters  swung  to  and  fro  like  bell-clappers,  and  the 
words  acquired  a  voice,  and  read  themselves  out 
quite  audibly. 

Soon  the  people  could  not  bear  to  see  flowers  on 
long  stalks,  because  they  thought  that  they  swung 
to  and  fro.  And  they  complained  that  sound  came 
from  them,  instead  of  fragrance. 

Others  insisted  that  the  mist  floating  through  the 
air  moved  in  time  with  the  sound  of  the  bells,  and 
they  said  that  all  the  pendulums  conformed  to  it, 
and  that  every  one  who  went  by  in  the  rain  tried  to 
do  likewise. 

And  that  was  when  the  bells  had  only  rung  a 
couple  of  hours,  and  when  the  people  still  laughed 
at  them. 

But  at  the  third  hour  the  ringing  seemed  to 
increase  even  more,  and  then  some  stuffed  cotton 
into  their  ears,  while  others  buried  themselves  under 
pillows.  But  they  felt  just  as  distinctly  how  the 
air  quivered  with  the  strokes,  and  they  thought  that 
they  perceived  how  everything  moved  in  time. 
Those  who  fled  up  to  the  dark  attic  found  the  sound 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE          105 

of  the  bolls  clear  and  ringing  there,  as  if  they  came 
from  the  sky;  and  those  who  fled  down  into  the 
cellar  heard  them  as  loud  and  deafening  there  as  if 
San  Pasquale's  church  stood  under  ground. 

Every  one  in  Diamante  began  to  be  terrified  ex- 
cept Donna  Micaela,  whom  love  protected  from 
fear. 

And  now  people  began  to  think  that  it  must  mean 
something,  because  it  was  San  Pasquale's  bells  that 
rang.  Every  one  began  to  ask  himself  what  the  saint 
foretold.  Each  had  his  own  dread,  and  believed  that 
San  Pasquale  gave  warning  to  him  of  what  he  least 
wished.  Each  had  a  deed  on  his  conscience  to  re- 
member, and  now  thought  that  San  Pasquale  was 
ringing  down  a  punishment  for  him. 

Toward  noon,  when  the  bells  still  rang,  every- 
body  was  sure  that  San  Pasquale  was  ringing  such 
a  misfortune  upon  Diamante  that  they  might  all 
expect  to  die  within  the  year. 

Pretty  Giannita  came  terrified  and  weeping  to 
Donna  Micaela,  and  lamented  that  it  was  San 
Pasquale  who  was  ringing.  "  God,  God,  if  it  had 
been  any  other  than  San  Pasquale  ! " 

"He  sees  that  something  terrible  is  coming  to 
us,"  said  Giannita.  "The  mist  does  not  prevent 
him  from  seeing  as  far  as  he  will.  He  sees  that  an 
enemy's  fleet  is  approaching  in  the  bay!  He  sees 
that  a  cloud  of  ashes  is  rising  out  of  Etna  which 
will  fall  over  us  and  bury  us ! " 

Donna  Micaela  smiled,  and  thought  that  she 
knew  of  what  San  Pasquale  was  thinking.  "  He  is 
tolling  a  passing-bell  for  the  beautiful  almond- 
blossoms,  that  are  destroyed  by  the  rain,"  she  said 
to  Giannita. 


106  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  let  no  one  frighten  her,  for  she  believed  that 
the  bells  were  ringing  for  her  alone.  They  rocked 
her  to  dream.  She  sat  quite  still  in  the  music-room 
and  let  joy  reign  in  her.  But  in  the  whole  world 
about  her  was  fear  and  anxiety  and  restlessness. 

No  one  could  sit  at  his  work.  No  one  could  think 
of  anything  but  the  great  horror  that  San  Pasquale 
foretold. 

People  began  to  give  the  beggars  more  gifts  than 
they  had  ever  had ;  but  the  beggars  did  not  rejoice, 
because  they  did  not  believe  they  would  survive  the 
morrow.  And  the  priests  could  not  rejoice,  although 
they  had  so  many  penitents  that  they  had  to  sit  in 
the  confessional  all  day  long,  and  although  gift  upon 
gift  was  piled  up  on  the  altar  of  the  saint. 

Not  even  Vicenzo  da  Lozzo,  the  letter-writer,  was 
glad  of  the  day,  although  people  besieged  his  desk 
under  the  court-house  loggia,  and  were  more  than 
willing  to  pay  him  a  soldo  a  word,  if  they  only 
might  write  a  line  of  farewell  on  this  their  last  day 
to  their  dear  ones  far  away. 

It  was  not  possible  to  keep  school  that  day,  for  the 
children  cried  the  whole  time.  At  noon  the  mothers 
came,  their  faces  stiff  with  terror,  and  took  their 
little  ones  home  with  them,  so  that  they  might  at 
least  be  together  in  misfortune. 

The  apprentices  at  the  tailors  and  shoe-makers 
had  a  holiday.  But  the  poor  boys  did  not  dare  to 
enjoy  it ;  they  preferred  to  sit  in  their  places  in  the 
workshops,  and  wait. 

In  the  afternoon  the  ringing  still  continued. 

Then  the  old  gate-keeper  of  the  palazzo  Geraci, 
where  now  no  one  lives  but  beggars,  and  who  is 
himself  a  beggar,  and  goes  dressed  in  the  most 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE          IO; 

miserable  rags,  went  and  put  on  the  light-green 
velvet  livery  that  he  wears  only  on  saints'  days  and 
on  the  king's  birthday.  And  no  one  could  see  him 
sitting  in  the  gateway  dressed  in  that  array  without 
being  chilled  with  fear,  for  people  understood  that 
the  old  man  expected  that  no  other  than  destruction 
would  march  in  through  the  gate  he  was  guarding. 

It  was  dreadful  how  people  frightened  one  another. 

Poor  Torino,  who  had  once  been  a  man  of  means, 
went  from  house  to  house  and  cried  that  now  the 
time  had  come  when  every  one  who  had  cheated  and 
beggared  him  would  get  his  punishment.  He  went 
into  all  the  little  shops  along  the  Corso  and  struck 
the  counter  with  his  hand,  saying  that  now  every 
one  in  the  town  would  get  his  sentence,  because  all 
had  connived  to  cheat  him. 

It  was  also  terrifying  to  hear  of  the  game  of  cards 
at  the  Cafe"  Europa.  There  the  same  four  had 
played  year  after  year  at  the  same  table,  and  no  one 
had  ever  thought  that  they  could  do  anything  else. 
But  now  they  suddenly  let  their  cards  fall,  and 
promised  each  other  that  if  they  survived  the 
horror  of  this  day  they  would  never  touch  them 
again. 

Donna  Elisa's  shop  was  packed  with  people;  to 
propitiate  the  saints  and  to  avert  the  menace,  they 
bought  all  the  sacred  things  that  she  had  to  sell. 
But  Donna  Elisa  thought  only  of  Gaetano,  who  was 
away,  and  believed  that  San  Pasquale  was  warning 
her  that  he  would  be  lost  during  the  voyage.  And 
she  took  no  pleasure  in  all  the  money  that  she  was 
earning. 

When  San  Pasquale' s  bells  went  on  ringing  the 
whole  afternoon  people  could  hardly  hold  out. 


108          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

For  now  they  knew  that  it  was  an  earthquake 
which  they  foretold,  and  that  all  Diamante  would 
be  wrecked. 

In  the  alleys,  where  the  very  houses  seemed  afraid 
of  earthquakes,  and  huddled  together  to  support  one 
another,  people  moved  their  miserable  old  furniture 
out  on  the  street  into  the  rain,  and  spread  tents  of 
bed-quilts  over  them.  And  they  even  carried  out 
their  little  children  in  their  cradles,  and  piled  up 
boxes  over  them. 

In  spite  of  the  rain,  there  was  such  a  crowd  on  the 
Corso  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  pass  through. 
For  every  one  was  trying  to  go  out  through  Porta 
Etnea  to  see  the  bells  swinging  and  swinging,  and  to 
convince  themselves  that  no  one  was  touching  the 
rope,  —  that  it  was  firmly  tied.  And  all  who  came 
out  there  fell  on  their  knees  in  the  road,  where  the 
water  ran  in  streams,  and  the  mud  was  bottomless. 

The  doors  to  San  Pasquale's  church  were  shut, 
as  always,  but  outside  the  old  gray-brother,  Fra 
Felice,  went  about  with  a  brass  plate,  among  those 
who  prayed,  and  received  their  gifts. 

In  their  turn  the  frightened  people  went  forward 
to  the  image  of  San  Pasquale  beneath  the  stone 
canopy,  and  kissed  his  hand.  An  old  woman  came 
carefully  carrying  something  under  a  green  umbrella. 
It  was  a  glass  with  water  and  oil,  in  which  floated 
a  little  wick  burning  with  a  faint  flame.  She  placed 
it  in  front  of  the  image  and  knelt  before  it. 

Though  many  thought  that  they  ought  to  try  to 
tie  up  the  bells,  no  one  dared  to  propose  it.  For  no 
one  dared  to  silence  God's  voice. 

Nor  did  any  one  dare  to  say  that  it  might  be  a 
device  of  old  Fra  Felice  to  collect  money.  Fra 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQU'ALE  109 

Felice  was  beloved.     It  would  fare  badly  with  who- 
ever said  such  things  as  that. 

Donna  Micaela  also  came  out  to  San  Pasquale 
and  took  her  father  with  her.  She  walked  with  her 
head  high  and  quite  without  fear.  She  came  to 
thank  him  for  having  rung  a  great  passion  into 
her  soul.  "My  life  begins  this  day,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

Don  Ferrante  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid  either,  but 
he  was  grim  and  angry.  For  every  one  had  to  go  in 
to  him  in  his  shop,  and  tell  him  what  they  thought, 
and  hear  his  opinion,  because  he  was  one  of  the 
Alagonas,  who  had  governed  the  town  for  so  many 
years. 

All  day  terrified,  trembling  people  came  into  his 
shop.  And  they  all  came  up  to  him  and  said: 
"This  is  a  terrible  ringing,  Don  Ferrante.  What 
is  to  become  of  us,  Don  Ferrante?" 

Even  Ugo  Favara,  the  splenetic  advocate,  came 
into  the  shop,  and  took  a  chair,  and  sat  down  behind 
the  counter.  And  Don  Ferrante  had  him  sitting 
there  all  day,  quite  livid,  quite  motionless,  suffering 
the  most  inconceivable  anguish  without  uttering  a 
word. 

Every  five  minutes  Torino-il-Martello  came  in 
and  struck  the  counter,  saying  that  the  hour  had  come 
in  which  Don  Ferrante  was  to  get  his  punishment. 

Don  Ferrante  was  a  hard  man,  but  he  could  no 
more  escape  the  bells  than  any  other.  And  the 
longer  he  heard  them,  the  more  he  began  to  wonder 
why  everybody  streamed  into  his  shop.  It  seemed 
as  if  they  meant  something  special.  It  seemed  as 
if  they  wished  to  make  him  responsible  for  the  ring 
ing,  and  the  evil  it  portended 


110          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

He  had  not  spoken  of  it  to  any  one,  but  his  wife 
must  have  spread  it  about.  He  began  to  believe  that 
everybody  was  thinking  the  same,  although  they 
did  not  dare  to  say  it.  He  thought  that  the  advo- 
cate was  sitting  and  waiting  for  him  to  yield.  He 
believed  that  the  whole  town  came  in  to  see  if  he 
would  really  dare  to  send  his  father-in-law  away. 

Donna  Elisa,  who  had  so  much  to  do  in  her  own 
shop  that  she  could  not  come  herself,  sent  old  Pacifica 
continually  to  him  to  ask  what  he  thought  of  the 
bell-ringing.  And  the  priest  too  came  to  the  shop 
for  a  moment  and  said,  like  all  the  others :  "  Did  you 
ever  hear  such  a  terrible  ringing,  Don  Ferrante  ?  " 

Don  Ferrante  would  have  liked  to  know  if  the 
advocate  and  Don  Matteo  and  all  the  others  came 
only  to  reproach  him  because  he  wished  to  send 
Cavaliere  Palmeri  away. 

The  blood  began  to  throb  in  his  temples.  The 
room  swam  now  and  then  before  his  eyes.  People 
came  in  continually  and  asked :  "  Have  you  ever 
heard  such  a  terrible  ringing?"  But  one  never 
came  and  asked,  and  that  was  Donna  Micaela.  She 
could  not  come  when  she  felt  no  fear.  She  was 
merely  delighted  and  proud  that  the  passion  which 
was  to  fill  her  whole  life  had  come.  "  My  life  is 
to  be  great  and  glorious,"  she  said.  And  she  was 
appalled  that  till  now  she  had  been  only  a  child. 

She  would  travel  with  the  post-carriage  that  went 
by  Diamante  at  ten  o'clock  at  night.  Towards  four, 
she  thought,  she  must  tell  her  father  everything, 
and  begin  his  packing. 

But  that  did  not  seem  hard  to  her.  Her  father 
would  soon  come  to  her  in  Argentina.  She  would 
beg  him  to  be  patient  for  a  few  months,  until  they 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  PASQUALE          III 

could  have  a  home  to  offer  him.  And  she  was 
sure  that  he  would  be  glad  to  have  her  leave  Don 
Ferrante. 

She  moved  in  a  delicious  trance.  Everything 
that  had  seemed  dreadful  appeared  so  no  longer. 
There  was  no  shame,  no  danger;  no,  none  at  all. 

She  only  longed  to  hear  the  rattling  of  the  post- 
carriage. 

Then  she  heard  many  voices  on  the  stairs  leading 
from  the  court-yard  to  the  second  floor.  She  heard 
a  multitude  of  heavy  feet  tramping.  She  saw 
people  passing  through  the  open  portico  that  ran 
round  the  court-yard,  and  through  which  one  had  to 
go  to  come  into  the  rooms.  She  saw  that  they  were 
carrying  something  heavy  between  them,  but  she 
could  not  see  what  it  was,  because  there  was  such  a 
crowd. 

The  pale-faced  advocate  walked  before  the  others. 
He  came  and  said  to  her  that  Don  Ferrante  had 
wished  to  drive  Torino  out  of  his  shop;  Torino  had 
cut  him  with  his  knife.  It  was  nothing  dangerous. 
He  was  already  bandaged  and  would  be  well  in  a 
fortnight. 

Don  Ferrante  was  carried  in,  and  his  eyes  wan- 
dered  about  the  room,  not  in  search  of  Donna 
Micaela,  but  of  Cavaliere  Palmeri.  When  he  saw 
him,  he  let  his  wife  know  without  a  word,  only  by  a 
few  gestures,  that  her  father  never  would  need  to 
leave  his  house;  never,  never. 

Then  she  pressed  her  hands  against  her  eyes. 
What,  what !  her  father  need  not  go  ?  She  was  saved. 
A  miracle  had  come  to  pass  to  help  her! 

Ah,  now  she  must  be  glad,  be  content !  But  she 
was  not.  She  felt  the  most  terrible  pain. 


112          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  could  not  go.  Her  father  was  allowed  to 
remain,  and  so  she  must  be  faithful  to  Don  Ferrante. 
She  struggled  to  understand.  It  was  so.  She  could 
not  go. 

She  tried  to  change  it  in  some  way.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  false  conclusion.  She  had  been  so  confused. 
No,  no,  it  was  so,  she  could  not. 

Then  she  became  tired  unto  death.  She  had 
travelled  and  travelled  the  whole  day.  She  had 
been  so  long  on  the  way.  And  she  would  never  get 
there.  She  sank  down.  A  torpor  and  faintness 
came  over  her.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  rest 
after  the  endless  journey  she  had  made.  But  that 
she  could  never  do.  She  began  to  weep  because  she 
would  never  reach  her  journey's  end.  Her  whole 
life  long  she  would  travel,  travel,  travel,  and  never 
reach  the  end  of  her  journey. 


U? 


VIII 

TWO  SONGS 

IT  was  the  morning  after  the  day  when  San  Pasquale's 
bells  had  rung;  and  Donna  Elisa  sat  in  her  shop  and 
counted  her  money.  The  day  before,  when  every- 
one had  been  afraid,  there  had  been  an  incredible 
sale  in  the  shop,  and  the  next  morning,  when  she 
had  come  down,  she  had  at  first  been  almost  fright- 
ened. For  the  whole  shop  was  desolate  and  empty ; 
the  medallions  were  gone,  the  wax  candles  were 
gone,  and  so  were  all  the  great  bunches  of  rosaries. 
All  Gaetano's  beautiful  images  had  been  taken  down 
from  the  shelves  and  sold,  and  it  was  a  real  grief  to 
Donna  Elisa  not  to  see  the  host  of  holy  men  and 
women  about  her. 

She  opened  the  money-drawer,  and  it  was  so  full 
that  she  could  hardly  pull  it  out.  And  while  she 
counted  her  money  she  wept  over  it  as  if  it  had  all 
been  false.  For  what  good  did  it  do  her  to  possess 
all  those  dirty  lire  and  those  big  copper  coins  when 
she  had  lost  Gaetano  ! 

Alas !  she  thought  that  if  he  had  stopped  at  home 
one  day  more  he  would  not  have  needed  to  go,  for 
now  she  was  laden  down  with  money. 

While  she  was  counting  she  heard  the  post-carriage 
stop  outside  her  door.  But  she  did  not  even  look 
up;  she  did  not  care  what  happened,  since  Gaetano 


114          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

was  gone.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  the  bell  rang 
violently.  She  only  wept  and  counted.  Then  some 
one  said:  "Donna  Elisa,  Donna  Elisa!"  And  it 
was  Gaetano! 

"  But  heavens !  how  can  you  be  at  home  ?  "  she 
cried.  —  "  You  have  sold  all  your  images.  I  had  to 
come  home  to  carve  new  ones  for  you."  —  "But  how 
did  you  find  out  about  it?"  —  "I  met  the  post- 
carriage  at  two  o'clock  in  the  night.  Rosa  Alfari 
was  in  it,  and  she  told  me  everything."  —  "What 
luck  that  you  went  down  to  the  post-carriage ! 
What  luck  that  you  happened  to  think  of  going 
down  to  the  post-carriage!"  —  "Yes;  was  it  not 
good  fortune  ? "  said  Gaetano. 

In  less  than  an  hour  Gaetano  was  again  stand- 
ing in  his  workshop;  and  Donna  Elisa,  who  had 
nothing  at  all  to  do  in  her  empty  shop,  came  in- 
cessantly to  the  door  to  look  at  him.  No,  was  he 
really  standing  there  and  carving?  She  could  not 
let  five  minutes  pass  without  coming  to  look  at 
him. 

But  when  Donna  Micaela  heard  that  he  was  back 
she  felt  no  joy,  rather  anger  and  despair.  For  she 
was  afraid  that  Gaetano  would  come  to  tempt  her. 

She  had  heard  that  a  rich  Englishwoman  had 
come  to  Diamante  the  day  the  bells  rang.  She  was 
deeply  affected  when  she  heard  that  it  was  the  lady 
with  the  Christ  image.  He  had  therefore  come  as 
soon  as  she  had  called  on  him.  The  rain  and  the 
bell-ringing  were  his  work! 

She  tried  to  rejoice  her  soul  with  the  thought  that 
there  had  been  a  miracle  for  her  sake.  It  would  be 
more  to  her  than  all  earthly  happiness  and  love  to 
feel  that  she  was  surrounded  by  God's  grace.  She 


TWO  SONGS  115 

did  not  wish  anything  earthly  to  come  and  drag  her 
down  from  that  blessed  rapture. 

But  when  she  met  Gaetano  on  the  street  he 
hardly  looked  at  her;  and  when  she  met  him  at 
Donna  Elisa's  he  did  not  take  her  hand  and  did  not 
speak  to  her  at  all. 

For  the  truth  was  that,  although  Gaetano  had 
come  home  because  it  had  been  too  hard  to  go  with- 
out Donna  Micaela,  he  did  not  wish  to  tempt  or  to 
persuade  her.  He  saw  that  she  was  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  saints,  and  she  had  become  so  sacred 
to  him  that  he  scarcely  dared  to  dream  of  her. 

He  wished  to  be  near  her,  not  in  order  to  love 
her,  but  because  he  believed  that  her  life  would 
blossom  with  holy  deeds.  Gaetano  longed  for  mira- 
cles, as  a  gardener  longs  for  the  first  rose  in  the 
spring. 

But  when  weeks  went  by  and  Gaetano  never  tried 
to  approach  Donna  Micaela,  she  began  to  doubt, 
and  to  think  that  he  had  never  loved  her.  She  said 
to  herself  that  he  had  won  the  promise  from  her  to 
flee  with  him  only  in  order  to  show  her  that  the 
Madonna  could  work  a  miracle. 

If  that  were  true,  she  did  not  know  why  he  had 
not  continued  his  journey  without  turning  back. 

That  caused  her  anxiety.  She  thought  that  she 
could  conquer  her  love  better  if  she  knew  whether 
Gaetano  loved  her.  She  weighed  the  pros  and  cons, 
and  she  was  more  and  more  sure  that  he  had  never 
loved  her. 

While  Donna  Micaela  was  thinking  of  this,  she 
had  to  sit  and  keep  Don  Ferrante  company.  He 
had  lain  sick  a  long  time.  He  had  had  two  strokes 
of  paralysis,  and  had  risen  from  his  sick-bed  a 


Il6          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

broken  man.  All  at  once  he  had  become  old  and 
dull  and  afraid,  so  that  he  never  dared  to  be  alone. 
He  never  worked  in  the  shop;  he  was  in  every  way 
a  changed  man. 

He  had  been  seized  with  a  great  desire  to  be  aris- 
tocratic and  fashionable.  It  looked  as  if  poor  Don 
Ferrante's  head  was  turned  with  pride. 

Donna  Micaela  was  very  good  to  him,  and  sat 
hour  after  hour  and  chatted  with  him. 

"Who  could  it  be,"  she  used  to  ask,  "who  once 
stood  in  the  market-place  with  plumes  on  his  hat, 
and  braid  on  his  coat,  and  sword  at  his  side,  and 
who  played  so  that  people  said  that  his  music  was 
as  uplifting  as  Etna,  and  as  strong  as  the  sea?  And 
who  caught  sight  of  a  poor  signorina  dressed  in 
black,  who  did  not  dare  to  show  her  face  to  the 
world,  and  went  forward  to  her  and  offered  his  arm  ? 
Who  could  it  be  ?  Could  it  be  Don  Ferrante,  who 
stands  the  whole  week  in  his  shop  and  wears  a 
pointed  cap  and  a  short  jacket?  No;  that  cannot 
be  possible.  No  old  merchant  could  have  done  such 
a  thing." 

Don  Ferrante  laughed.  That  was  just  the  way 
he  liked  to  have  her  talk  to  him.  She  would  also 
tell  him  how  it  would  be  when  he  came  to  court. 
The  king  would  say  this,  and  the  queen  would  say 
that.  "The  old  Alagonas  have  come  up  again," 
they  would  say  at  court.  And  who  has  brought  up 
the  race?  People  will  wonder  and  wonder.  The 
Don  Ferrante,  who  is  a  Sicilian  prince  and  Spanish 
grandee,  is  that  the  same  man  who  stood  in  a  shop 
in  Diamante  and  shouted  at  the  teamsters?  No, 
people  will  say,  it  cannot  be  the  same.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  it  to  be  the  same. 


TWO  SONGS  117 

Don  Ferrante  liked  that,  and  wished  to  hear  her 
talk  so  day  in  and  day  out.  He  was  never  tired 
of  listening,  and  Donna  Micaela  was  very  patient 
with  him. 

But  one  day  while  she  was  chatting,  Donna  Elisa 
came  in.  "  Sister-in-law,  if  you  happen  to  own  the 
'  Legend  of  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Pompeii,'  will  you 
lend  it  to  me  ?  "  she  asked.  —  "  What,  are  you  going 
to  begin  to  read?"  asked  Donna  Micaela.  — "The 
saints  preserve  us !  you  know  very  well  that  I  cannot 
read.  Gaetano  is  asking  for  it. " 

Donna  Micaela  did  not  own  the  "Legend  of  the 
Holy  Virgin  at  Pompeii."  But  she  did  not  say  so 
to  Donna  Elisa;  she  went  to  her  book-shelf  and 
took  a  little  book,  a  collection  of  Sicilian  love- 
songs,  and  gave  it  to  Donna  Elisa,  who  carried  the 
little  book  over  to  Gaetano. 

But  Donna  Micaela  had  no  sooner  done  so  before 
a  lively  regret  seized  her.  And  she  asked  herself 
what  she  had  meant  by  behaving  so,  —  she  who  had 
been  helped  by  the  little  Christ-child? 

She  blushed  with  shame  as  she  thought  that  she 
had  marked  one  of  the  little  songs,  one  that  ran 
thus : — 

"  For  on*>  single  question's  answer  longing, 
Night  I  asked,  and  asked  the  daytime's  burning ; 
Watched  the  flight  of  birds,  and  swift  clouds  thronging, 
In  water  strove  to  read  the  hot  lead's  turning; 
Leaves  I  counted  plucked  from  many  flowers, 
Lured  dark  prophets  forth,  and  sought  their  powers, 
Till  at  last  I  called  on  Heaven  above  me : 
'  Doth  he  love  me  still,  as  once  he  loved  me  ?  ' " 

She  had  hoped  to  get  an  answer  to  it.     But  it  would 
serve  her  right  if  no  answer  came.     It  would  serve 


Il8  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

her  right  if  Gaetano  despised  her  and  thought  her 
forward. 

Yet  she  had  meant  no  harm.  The  only  thing  she 
had  desired  had  been  to  find  out  if  Gaetano  loved 
her. 

Several  weeks  again  passed  and  Donna  Micaela 
still  sat  with  Don  Ferrante. 

But  one  day  Donna  Elisa  had  tempted  her  out. 
"Come  with  me  into  my  garden,  sister-in-law,  and 
see  my  big  magnolia-tree.  You  have  never  seen 
anything  so  beautiful." 

She  had  gone  with  Donna  Elisa  across  the  street 
and  had  come  into  her  court-yard.  And  Donna 
Elisa's  magnolia  was  like  the  shining  sun,  so  that 
people  were  aware  of  it  even  before  they  saw  it. 
At  a  great  distance  the  fragrance  lay  and  rocked  in 
the  air,  and  there  was  a  murmuring  of  bees,  and  a 
twittering  of  birds. 

When  Donna  Micaela  saw  the  tree  she  could 
hardly  breathe.  It  was  very  high  and  broad,  with 
a  beautifully  even  growth,  and  its  large,  firm  leaves 
were  of  a  fresh,  dark  green.  But  now  it  was  entirely 
covered  with  great,  bright  flowers,  that  lighted  and 
adorned  it  so  that  it  looked  as  if  dressed  for  a  feast, 
and  one  felt  an  intoxicating  joy  streaming  forth 
from  the  tree.  Donna  Micaela  almost  lost  con- 
sciousness, and  a  new  and  irresistible  power  took 
possession  of  her.  She  drew  down  one  of  the  stiff 
branches,  and  without  breaking  it  spread  out  the 
flower  that  it  bore,  took  a  needle  and  began  to  prick 
letters  on  the  flower  leaf.  "What  are  you  doing, 
sister-in-law?"  asked  Donna  Elisa.  — "Nothing, 
nothing."  —  "  In  my  time  young  girls  used  to  prick 
love-letters  on  the  magnolia-blossoms."  —  "Perhaps 


TWO  SONGS  119 

they  do  it  still."  —  "Take  care;  I  shall  look  at  what 
you  have  written  when  you  are  gone. "  —  "  But  you 
cannot  read. "  —  "I  have  Gaetano. "  —  " And  Luca ; 
you  had  better  ask  Luca. " 

When  Donna  Micaela  came  home,  she  repented  of 
what  she  had  done.  Would  Donna  Elisa  really 
show  the  flower  to  Gaetano?  No,  no;  Donna  Elisa 
was  too  sensible.  But  if  he  had  seen  her  from  the 
window  of  his  workshop?  Well,  he  would  not 
answer.  She  had  made  herself  ridiculous. 

No,  never,  never  again  would  she  do  such  a  thing. 
It  was  best  for  her  not  to  know.  It  was  best  for  her 
that  Gaetano  did  not  ask  after  her. 

Nevertheless  she  wondered  what  answer  she  would 
get.  But  none  came. 

So  another  week  passed.  Then  it  came  into  Don 
Ferrante's  mind  that  he  would  like  to  go  out  for  a 
drive  in  the  afternoon. 

In  the  carriage-house  of  the  summer  palace  there 
was  an  ancient  state  carriage,  which  was  certainly 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old.  It  was  very  high ; 
it  had  a  small,  narrow  body,  which  swung  on  leather 
straps  between  the  back  wheels,  which  were  as  big 
as  the  water-wheels  of  a  mill.  It  was  painted  white, 
with  gilding;  it  was  lined  with  red  velvet,  and  had 
a  coat  of  arms  on  its  doors. 

Once  it  had  been  a  great  honor  to  ride  in  that 
carriage;  and  when  the  old  Alagonas  had  passed  in 
it  along  the  Corso,  people  had  stood  on  their  thresh- 
olds, and  crowded  to  their  doors,  and  hung  over 
balconies  to  see  them.  But  then  it  had  been  drawn 
by  spirited  barbs;  then  the  coachman  had  worn  a 
wig,  and  the  footman  gold  braid,  and  it  had  been 
driven  with  embroidered  silk  reins. 


120          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Now  Don  Ferrante  wished  to  harness  his  old 
horses  before  the  gala  carriage  and  have  his  old 
shopman  take  the  place  of  coachman. 

When  Donna  Micaela  told  him  that  it  could  not 
be,  Don  Ferrante  began  to  weep.  What  would 
people  think  of  him  if  he  did  not  show  himself  on 
the  Corso  in  the  afternoon  ?  That  was  the  last  thing 
a  man  of  position  denied  himself.  How  could  any- 
one know  that  he  was  a  nobleman,  if  he  did  not 
drive  up  and  down  the  street  in  the  carriage  of  the 
old  Alagonas? 

The  happiest  hour  Don  Ferrante  had  enjoyed 
since  his  illness  was  when  he  drove  out  for  the  first 
time.  He  sat  erect  and  nodded  and  waved  very 
graciously  to  every  one  he  met.  And  the  people  of 
Diamante  bowed,  and  took  off  their  hats,  so  that 
they  swept  the  street.  Why  should  they  not  give 
Don  Ferrante  this  pleasure? 

Donna  Micaela  was  with  him,  for  Don  Ferrante 
did  not  dare  to  drive  alone.  She  had  not  wished 
to  go,  but  Don  Ferrante  had  wept,  and  reminded 
her  that  he  had  married  her  when  she  was  despised 
and  penniless.  She  ought  not  to  be  ungrateful;  she 
ought  not  to  forget  what  he  had  done  for  her,  and 
ought  to  come  with  him.  Why  did  she  not  wish  to 
drive  with  him  in  his  carriage?  It  was  the  finest 
old  carriage  in  Sicily. 

"Why  will  you  not  come  with  me?"  said  Don 
Ferrante.  "  Remember  that  I  am  the  only  one  who 
loves  you.  Do  you  not  see  that  not  even  your  father 
loves  you  ?  You  must  not  be  ungrateful. " 

In  this  way  he  had  forced  Donna  Micaela  to  take 
her  place  in  the  gala  carriage. 

But  it  was  not  at  all  as  she  had  expected.     No 


TWO  SONGS  121 

one  laughed.  The  women  courtesied,  and  the  men 
bowed  as  solemnly  as  if  the  carriage  had  been  a 
hundred  years  younger.  And  Donna  Micaela  could 
not  detect  a  smile  on  any  face. 

No  one  in  all  Diamante  would  have  wished  to 
laugh ;,  for  every  one  knew  how  Don  Ferrante  treated 
Donna  Micaela.  They  knew  how  he  loved  her,  and 
how  he  wept  if  she  left  him  for  a  single  minute. 
They  knew,  too,  that  he  tormented  her  with  jealousy, 
and  that  he  trampled  her  hats  to  pieces,  if  they 
became  her,  and  never  gave  her  money  for  new 
dresses,  because  no  other  was  to  find  her  beautiful, 
and  love  her.  But  all  the  time  he  told  her  that  she 
was  so  ugly  that  no  one  but  he  could  bear  to  look  at 
her  face.  And  because  every  one  in  Diamante  knew 
it  all,  no  one  laughed.  Laugh  at  her,  sitting  and 
chatting  with  a  sick  man !  They  are  pious  Chris- 
tians in  Diamante,  and  not  barbarians. 

So  the  gala-carriage  in  its  faded  glory  drove  up 
and  down  the  Corso  in  Diamante  during  the  hour 
between  five  and  six.  And  in  Diamante  it  drove 
quite  alone,  for  there  were  no  other  fine  carriages 
there ;  but  people  knew  that  at  that  same  time  all 
the  carriages  in  Rome  drove  to  Monte  Pincio,  all 
those  in  Naples  to  the  Via  Nazionale,  and  all  in 
Florence  to  the  Cascine,  and  all  in  Palermo  to  La 
Favorita. 

But  when  the  carriage  approached  the  Porta  Etnea 
for  the  third  time,  a  merry  sound  of  horns  was  heard 
from  the  road  outside. 

And  through  the  gate  swung  a  big,  high  coach  in 
the  English  style. 

It  was  meant  to  look  old-fashioned  also.  The 
postilion  riding  on  the  off  leader  had  leather  trouser^ 


122  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

and  a  wig  tied  in  a  pig-tail.  The  coach  was  like  an 
old  diligence,  with  the  body  behind  the  coach  box 
and  seats  on  the  roof. 

But  everything  was  new;  the  horses  were  mag- 
nificent, powerful  animals,  carriage  and  harness 
shone,  and  the  passengers  were  some  young  gentle- 
men and  ladies  from  Catania,  who  were  making  an 
excursion  up  Etna.  And  they  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing as  they  drove  by  the  old  gala-carriage.  They 
leaned  over  from  where  they  sat  on  the  high  roof  to 
look  at  it,  and  their  laughter  sounded  very  loud  and 
echoed  between  the  high,  silent  houses  of  Diamante. 

Donna  Micaela  was  very  unhappy.  They  were 
some  of  her  old  circle  of  friends.  What  would  they 
not  say  when  they  came  home?  "We  have  seen 
Micaela  Palmeri  in  Diamante."  And  they  would 
laugh  and  talk,  laugh  and  talk. 

Her  life  seemed  so  squalid.  She  was  nothing  but 
the  slave  of  a  fool.  Her  whole  life  long  she  would 
never  do  anything  but  chat  with  Don  Ferrante. 

When  she  came  home  she  was  quite  exhausted. 
She  was  so  tired  and  weak  that  she  could  scarcely 
drag  herself  up  the  steps. 

And  all  the  time  Don  Ferrante  was  rejoicing  in 
his  good  fortune  at  having  met  all  those  fine  people, 
and  having  been  seen  in  his  state.  He  told  her 
that  now  no  one  would  ask  whether  she  was  ugly,  or 
whether  her  father  had  stolen.  Now  people  knew 
that  she  was  the  wife  of  a  man  of  rank. 

After  dinner  Donna  Micaela  sat  quite  silent,  and 
let  her  father  talk  to  Don  Ferrante.  Then  a  man- 
dolin began  to  sound  quite  softly  in  the  street  under 
the  window  of  the  summer  palace.  It  was  a  single 
mandolin  with  no  accompaniment  of  guitar  or  violin. 


TWO  SONGS  123 

Nothing  could  be  more  light  and  airy;  nothing  more 
captivating  and  affecting.  No  one  could  think  that 
human  hands  were  touching  the  strings.  It  was  as 
if  bees  and  crickets  and  grasshoppers  were  giving  a 
concert. 

"  There  is  some  one  again  who  has  fallen  in  love 
with  Giannita,"  said  Don  Ferrante.  "That  is  a 
woman,  Giannita.  Any  one  can  see  that  she  is 
pretty.  If  I  were  young  I  should  fall  in  love  with 
Giannita.  She  knows  how  to  love." 

Donna  Micaela  started.  He  was  right,  she  thought. 
The  mandolin-player  meant  Giannita.  That  evening 
Giannita  was  at  home  with  her  mother,  but  other- 
wise she  always  lived  at  the  summer  palace.  Donna 
Micaela  had  arranged  it  so  since  Don  Ferrante  had 
been  ill. 

But  Donna  Micaela  liked  the  mandolin  playing, 
for  whomever  it  might  be  meant.  It  came  sweet, 
and  soft,  and  comforting.  She  went  gently  into  her 
room  to  listen  better  in  the  dark  and  loneliness. 

A  sweet,  strong  fragrance  met  her  there.  What 
was  it?  Her  hands  began  to  tremble  before  she 
found  a  candle  and  a  match.  On  her  work-table  lay 
a  big,  widely  opened  magnolia-blossom. 

On  one  of  the  flower  petals  was  pricked :  "  Who 
loves  me?"  And  now  stood  under  it:  "Gaetano." 

Beside  the  flower  lay  a  little  white  book  full  of 
love-songs.  And  there  was  a  mark  against  one  of 
the  little  verses :  — 

"  None  have  known  the  love  that  I  have  brought  thee, 
Silent,  secret,  born  in  midnight's  measure. 
All  my  dreams  have  stolen  forth  and  sought  thee ; 
Miser-like,  the  while,  I  watched  my  treasure : 
Tho'  the  priest  shall  seek  to  shrive  me,  dying, 


124  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Silent  I,  nor  needing  him  to  speed  me, 
Bar  the  door,  fling  forth  the  key,  and  lying 
Thus  unshriven,  go  where  death  shall  lead  me." 

The  mandolin  continued  to  play.  There  is  some* 
thing  of  open  air  and  sunlight  in  a  mandolin ;  some- 
thing soothing  and  calming;  something  of  the 
cheering  carelessness  of  beautiful  nature. 


FLIGHT  125 


IX 

FLIGHT 

AT  that  time  the  little  image  from  Aracoeli  was  still 
in  Diamante. 

The  Englishwoman  who  owned  it  had  been  fasci- 
nated by  Diamante.  She  had  not  been  able  to 
bring  herself  to  leave  it. 

She  had  hired  the  whole  first  floor  of  the  hotel, 
and  had  established  herself  there  as  in  a  home.  She 
bought  for  large  sums  everything  she  could  find  in 
the  way  of  old  pots  and  old  coins.  She  bought 
mosaics,  and  altar-pictures,  and  holy  images.  She 
thought  that  she  would  like  to  make  a  collection  of 
all  the  saints  of  the  church. 

She  heard  of  Gaetano,  and  sent  him  a  message  to 
come  to  her  at  the  hotel. 

Gaetano  collected  what  he  had  carved  during  the 
last  few  days  and  took  them  with  him  to  Miss 
Tottenham.  She  was  much  pleased  with  his  little 
images,  and  wished  to  buy  them  all. 

But  the  rich  Englishwoman's  rooms  were  like  the 
lumber-rooms  of  a  museum.  They  were  filled  with 
every  conceivable  thing,  and  there  was  confusion 
and  disorder  everywhere.  Here  stood  half-empty 
trunks;  there  hung  cloaks  and  hats;  here  lay 
paintings  and  engravings;  there  were  guide-books, 
railway  time-tables,  tea-sets,  and  alcohol  lamps; 


126          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

elsewhere   halberds,    prayer-books,   mandolins,    and 
escutcheons. 

And  that  opened  Gaetano's  eyes.  He  flushed 
suddenly,  bit  his  lips,  and  began  to  repack  his 
images. 

He  had  caught  sight  of  an  image  of  the  Christ- 
child.  It  was  the  outcast,  who  was  standing  there 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  disorder,  with  his  wretched 
crown  on  his  head  and  brass  shoes  on  his  feet.  The 
color  was  worn  off  his  face;  the  rings  and  ornaments 
hanging  on  him  were  tarnished,  and  his  dress  was 
yellowed  with  age. 

When  Gaetano  saw  that,  he  would  not  sell  his 
images  to  Miss  Tottenham;  he  meant  simply  to  go 
his  way. 

When  she  asked  him  what  was  the  matter  with 
him  he  stormed  at  her,  and  scolded  her. 

Did  she  know  that  many  of  the  things  she  had 
about  her  were  sacred? 

Did  she  know,  or  did  she  not  know,  that  that  was 
the  holy  Christchild  himself?  And  she  had  let  him 
lose  three  ringers  on  one  hand,  and  let  the  jewels 
fall  out  of  his  crown,  and  let  him  lie  dirty,  and 
tarnished,  and  dishonored !  And  if  she  had  so 
treated  the  image  of  God's  own  son,  how  would  she 
let  everything  else  fare?  He  would  not  sell  any- 
thing to  her. 

When  Gaetano  burst  out  at  her  in  that  way  Miss 
Tottenham  was  enraptured,  enchanted. 

Here  was  the  true  faith  and  the  righteous,  holy 
wrath.  This  young  man  must  become  an  artist. 
To  England,  he  should  go  to  England !  She  wished 
to  send  him  to  the  great  master,  her  friend,  who  was 
trying  to  reform  art;  to  him  who  wished  to  teach 


FLIGHT  127 

people  to  make  beautiful  house-furnishings,  beauti- 
ful church-fittings,  who  wished  to  create  a  whole 
beautiful  world. 

She  decided  and  arranged,  and  Gaetano  let  her  go 
on,  because  he  would  rather  now  go  away  from 
Diamante. 

He  saw  that  he  could  no  longer  endure  to  live 
there.  He  believed  that  it  was  God  leading  him 
out  of  temptation. 

He  went  away  quite  unobserved.  Donna  Micaela 
scarcely  knew  anything  of  it  until  he  was  gone.  He 
had  not  dared  to  come  and  bid  her  good-bye. 


128          THR  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


THE   SIROCCO 

AFTER  that  two  years  passed  quietly.  The  only 
thing  that  happened  at  Diamante  and  in  all  Sicily 
was  that  the  people  grew  ever  poorer  and  poorer. 

Then  there  came  an  autumn,  and  it  was  about  the 
time  when  the  wine  was  to  be  harvested. 

At  that  time  songs  generally  rise  full-fledged  to 
the  lips;  at  that  time  new  and  beautiful  melodies 
stream  from  the  mandolins. 

Then  crowds  of  young  people  go  out  to  the  vine- 
yards, and  there  is  work  and  laughter  all  day,  dance 
and  laughter  all  night,  and  no  one  knows  what 
sleep  is. 

Then  the  bright  ocean  of  air  over  the  mountain 
is  more  beautiful  than  at  any  other  time.  Then  the 
air  is  full  of  wit;  sparkling  glances  flash  through 
it;  it  gets  warmth  not  only  from  the  sun,  but  also 
from  the  glowing  faces  of  the  young  women  of 
Etna. 

But  that  autumn  all  the  vineyards  were  devastated 
by  the  phylloxera.  No  grape-pickers  pushed  their 
way  between  the  vines;  no  long  lines  of  women 
carrying  heaped-up  baskets  on  their  heads  wound  up 
to  the  presses,  and  at  night  there  was  no  dancing  on 
the  flat  roofs. 

That  autumn  no  clear,  light  October  air  lay  over 
the  Etna  region.  As  if  it  had  been  in  league  with 


THE  SIROCCO 

the  famine,  the  heavy,  weakening  wind  from  the 
Sahara  came  over  from  Africa,  and  brought  with  it 
dust  and  exhalations  that  darkened  the  sky. 

Never,  as  long  as  that  autumn  lasted,  was  there  a 
fresh  mountain  breeze.  The  baleful  Sirocco  blew 
incessantly. 

Sometimes  it  came  dry  and  heavy  with  sand,  and 
so  hot  that  they  had  to  shut  doors  and  windows,  and 
keep  in  their  rooms,  not  to  faint  away. 

But  oftener  it  came  warm  and  damp  and  enervat- 
ing. And  the  people  felt  no  rest ;  trouble  left  them 
neither  by  day  nor  by  night,  and  cares  piled  upon 
them  like  snow-drifts  on  the  high  mountains. 

And  the  restlessness  reached  Donna  Micaela  as 
she  sat  and  watched  with  her  old  husband,  Don 
Ferrante. 

During  that  autumn  she  never  heard  any  one  laugh, 
nor  heard  a  song.  People  crept  by  one  another,  so 
full  of  anger  and  despair  that  they  were  almost 
choked.  And  she  said  to  herself  that  they  were 
certainly  dreaming  of  an  insurrection.  She  saw 
that  they  had  to  revolt.  It  would  help  no  one,  but 
they  had  no  other  resource. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  autumn,  sitting  on  her 
balcony,  she  heard  the  people  talk  in  the  street. 
They  always  talked  of  the  famine:  We  have  blight 
in  wheat  and  wine;  there  is  a  crisis  in  sulphur  and 
oranges;  all  Sicily's  yellow  gold  has  failed.  How 
shall  we  live? 

And  Donna  Micaela  understood  that  it  was  terrible. 
Wheat,,  wine,  oranges,  and  sulphur,  all  their  yellow 
gold! 

She  began  to  understand,  too,  that  the  misery 
was  greater  than  men  could  bear  long,  and  she 

9 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

grieved  that  life  should  be  made  so  hard.  She  asked 
why  the  people  should  be  forced  to  bear  such  enor- 
mous taxes.  Why  should  the  salt  tax  exist,  so  that 
a  poor  woman  could  not  go  down  to  the  shore  and 
get  a  pail  of  salt  water,  but  must  buy  costly  salt  in 
the  government  shops  ?  Why  should  there  be  a  tax 
on  palm-trees?  The  peasants,  with  anger  in  their 
hearts,  were  felling  the  old  trees  that  had  waved  so 
long  over  the  noble  isle.  And  why  should  a  tax  be 
put  on  windows?  What  did  they  want?  Was  it 
that  the  poor  should  take  away  their  windows,  move 
out  of  their  rooms,  and  live  in  cellars? 

In  the  sulphur-mines  there  were  strikes  and  turbu- 
lence, and  the  government  was  sending  troops  to 
force  the  people  back  to  work.  Donna  Micaela 
wondered  if  the  government  did  not  know  that  there 
was  no  machinery  in  those  mines.  Perhaps  it  had 
never  heard  that  children  dragged  the  ore  up  from 
the  deep  shafts.  It  did  not  know  that  these  children 
were  slaves;  it  could  not  imagine  that  parents  had 
sold  them  to  overseers.  Or  if  the  government  did 
know  it,  why  did  it  wish  to  help  the  mine-owners? 

At  one  time  she  heard  of  a  terrible  number  of 
crimes.  And  she  began  again  with  her  questions. 
Why  did  they  let  the  people  become  so  criminal? 
And  why  did  they  let  them  be  so  poor  and  so  ragged  ? 
Why  must  they  all  be  so  ragged?  She  knew  that 
any  one  living  in  Palermo  or  Catania  did  not  need  to 
ask.  But  he  who  lived  in  Diamante  could  not  help 
fearing  and  asking.  Why  did  they  let  the  people 
be  so  poor  that  they  died  of  hunger? 

As  yet  the  summer  was  hardly  over;  it  was  no 
later  in  the  autumn  than  the  end  of  October,  and 
already  Donna  Micaela  began  to  see  the  day  when 


THE  SIROCCO  131 

the  insurrection  would  break  out.  She  saw  the 
starved  people  come  rushing  along  the  street.  They 
would  plunder  the  shops  and  they  would  plunder 
the  few  rich  men  there  were  in  the  town.  Outside 
the  summer  palace  the  wild  horde  would  stop,  and 
they  would  climb  up  to  the  balcony  and  the  glass 
doors.  "Bring  out  the  jewels  of  the  old  Alagonas; 
bring  out  Don  Ferrante's  millions!"  That  was 
their  dream,  — the  summer  palace!  They  believed 
that  it  was  as  full  of  gold  as  a  fairy  palace. 

But  when  they  found  nothing,  they  would  put  a 
dagger  to  her  throat,  to  make  her  give  up  the 
treasures  that  she  had  never  possessed,  and  she 
would  be  killed  by  the  bloodthirsty  crowds. 

Why  could  not  the  great  land-owners  stop  at  home  ? 
Why  must  they  irritate  the  poor  by  living  in  grand 
style  in  Rome  and  Paris?  The  people  would  not 
be  so  bitter  against  them  if  they  stayed  at  home; 
they  would  not  swear  such  a  solemn  and  sacred  oath 
to  kill  all  the  rich  when  the  time  should  come. 

Donna  Micaela  wished  that  she  could  have  escaped 
to  one  of  the  big  towns.  But  both  her  father  and 
Don  Ferrante  fell  ill  that  autumn,  and  for  their  sakes 
she  was  forced  to  remain  where  she  was.  And  she 
knew  that  she  would  be  killed  as  an  atonement  for 
the  sins  of  the  rich  against  the  poor. 

For  many  years  misfortunes  had  been  gathering 
over  Sicily,  and  now  they  could  no  longer  be  held 
back.  Etna  itself  began  to  menace  an  eruption. 
At  night  sulphurous  smoke  floated  red  as  fire,  and 
rumblings  were  heard  as  far  away  as  Diamante. 
The  end  of  everything  was  coming.  Everything 
was  to  be  destroyed  at  once. 

Did  not  the  government  know  of  the  discontent? 


132          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Ah,  the  government  had  at  last  heard  of  it,  and  it 
had  appointed  a  committee.  It  was  a  great  comfort 
to  see  the  members  of  the  committee  come  driving 
one  fine  day  along  the  Corso  in  Diamante.  If  only 
the  people  had  understood  that  they  wished  them 
well !  If  the  women  had  not  stood  in  their  door- 
ways and  spat  at  the  fine  gentlemen  from  the  main- 
land; if  the  children  had  not  run  beside  the  carriages 
and  cried:  "Thief,  thief!" 

Everything  they  did  only  stirred  up  the  revolt, 
and  there  was  no  one  who  could  control  the  people 
and  quiet  them.  They  trusted  no  officials.  They 
despised  those  least  who  only  took  bribes.  But 
people  said  that  many  belonged  to  the  society  of 
Mafia;  ,they  said  that  their  one  thought  was  to  extort 
money  and  acquire  power. 

As  time  went  on,  several  signs  showed  that  some- 
thing terrible  was  impending.  In  the  papers  they 
wrote  that  crowds  of  working-men  were  gathering  in 
the  larger  towns  and  wandering  about  the  streets. 
People  read  also  in  the  papers  how  the  socialist 
leaders  were  going  through  the  country,  and  making 
seditious  speeches.  All  at  once  it  became  clear  to 
Donna  Micaela  whence  all  the  trouble  came.  The 
socialists  were  inciting  the  revolt.  It  was  their  fire- 
brand speeches  that  set  the  blood  of  the  people  boil- 
ing. How  could  they  let  them  do  it?  Who  was 
king  in  Sicily?  Was  his  name  Don  Felice,  or 
Umberto  ? 

Donna  Micaela  felt  a  horror  which  she  could  not 
shake  off.  It  was  as  if  they  had  conspired  especially 
against  her.  And  the  more  she  heard  of  the  social- 
ists, the  more  she  feared  them. 

Giannita  tried   to   calm   her.     "We   have   not  a 


THE  SIROCCO  133 

single  socialist  in  Diamante,"  she  said.  "In 
Diamante  no  one  is  thinking  of  revolt."  Donna 
Micaela  asked  her  if  she  did  not  know  what  it  meant 
when  the  old  distaff  spinners  sat  in  their  dark 
corners,  and  told  of  the  great  brigands  and  of  the 
famous  Palermo  fisherman,  Giuseppe  Alesi,  whom 
they  called  the  Masaniello  of  Sicily. 

If  the  socialists  could  once  get  the  revolt  started, 
Diamante  would  also  join  in.  All  Diamante  knew 
already  that  something  dreadful  was  impending. 
They  had  seen  the  ghost  of  the  big,  black  monk  on 
the  balcony  of  the  Palazzo  Geraci;  they  heard  the 
owls  scream  through  the  night,  and  some  declared 
that  the  cocks  crowed  at  sunset,  and  were  silent  at 
daybreak. 

One  day  in  November  Diamante  was  suddenly 
filled  with  terrible  people.  They  were  men  with 
the  faces  of  wild  beasts,  with  bushy  beards,  and  with 
big  hands  set  on  enormously  long  arms.  Several  of 
them  wore  wide,  fluttering  linen  garments,  and  the 
people  thought  that  they  recognized  in  them  famous 
bandits  and  newly  freed  galley-slaves. 

Giannita  related  that  all  these  wild  people  lived 
in  the  mountain  wastes  inland  and  had  crossed 
Simeto  and  come  to  Diamante,  because  a  rumor  had 
gone  about  that  revolt  had  already  broken  out.  But 
when  they  had  found  everything  quiet,  and  the 
barracks  full  of  soldiers,  they  had  gone  away. 

Donna  Micaela  thought  incessantly  of  those  people, 
and  expected  them  to  be  her  murderers.  She  saw 
before  her  their  fluttering  linen  garments  and  their 
brute  faces.  She  knew  that  they  were  lurking 
in  their  mountain  holes,  and  waiting  for  the  day 
when  they  should  hear  shots  and  the  noise  of  an 


134          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

outbreak  in  Diamante.  Then  they  would  fall  upon 
the  town  with  fire  and  murder,  and  march  at  the 
head  of  all  the  starving  people  as  the  generals  and 
leaders  in  the  plundering. 

All  that  autumn  Donna  Micaela  had  to  nurse  both 
her  father  and  Don  Ferrante;  for  they  lay  sick 
month  after  month.  People  had  told  her,  however, 
that  their  lives  were  in  no  danger. 

She  was  very  glad  to  be  able  to  keep  Don  Ferrante 
alive,  for  it  was  her  only  hope  that  at  the  last  the 
people  would  spare  him,  who  was  of  such  an  old  and 
venerated  race. 

As  she  sat  by  their  sick-beds,  her  thoughts  went 
often  in  longing  to  Gaetano,  and  many  were  the 
times  when  she  wished  that  he  were  at  home.  She 
would  not  feel  such  terror  and  fear  of  death  if  he 
stood  once  more  in  his  workshop.  Then  she  would 
have  felt  nothing  but  security  and  peace. 

Even  now,  when  he  was  so  far  away,  it  was  to  him 
her  thoughts  turned  when  fear  was  driving  her  mad. 
Not  a  single  letter  had  come  from  him  since  he  had 
gone  away,  so  that  sometimes  she  believed  that  he 
had  forgotten  her  entirely.  At  other  times  she  was 
quite  sure  that  he  loved  her,  for  she  felt  herself 
compelled  to  think  of  him,  and  knew  that  he  was  near 
her  in  thought,  and  was  calling  to  her. 

That  autumn  she  at  last  received  a  letter  from 
Gaetano.  Alas,  such  a  letter!  Donna  Micaela's 
first  thought  was  to  burn  it. 

She  had  gone  up  to  the  roof-garden  in  order  to  be 
alone  when  she  read  the  letter.  She  had  once 
heard  Gaetano' s  declaration  of  love  there.  That 
had  not  moved  her.  It  had  neither  warmed  her  nor 
frightened  her. 


THE  SIROCCO  135 

But  this  letter  was  different.  He  prayed  that  she 
would  come  to  him,  be  his,  give  him  her  life. 
When  she  read  it  she  was  frightened  at  herself. 
She  felt  how  she  longed  to  cry  out  into  the  air,  "  I 
am  coming,  I  am  coming,"  and  set  out.  It  drew 
her,  carried  her  away. 

"  Let  us  be  happy ! "  he  wrote.  "  We  are  losing 
time;  the  years  are  passing.  Let  us  be  happy!" 

He  described  to  her  how  they  would  live.  He  told 
her  of  other  women  who  had  obeyed  love  and  been 
happy.  He  wrote  as  temptingly  as  convincingly. 

But  it  was  not  the  contents ;  it  was  the  love  that 
glowed  and  burned  in  the  letter  which  overcame 
her.  It  rose  from  the  paper  like  an  intoxicating 
incense,  and  she  felt  it  penetrate  her.  It  was  burn- 
ing, longing,  speaking,  in  every  word. 

Now  she  was  no  longer  a  saint  to  him,  as  she  had 
been  before.  It  came  so  unexpectedly,  after  two 
years'  silence,  that  she  was  stunned.  And  she  was 
troubled  because  it  delighted  her. 

She  had  never  thought  that  love  was  like  this. 
Should  she  really  like  it  ?  She  found  with  dismay 
that  she  did  like  it. 

And  so  she  punished  both  herself  and  him  by 
writing  a  severe  reply.  It  was  moral,  moral;  it  was 
nothing  but  moral !  She  was  proud  when  she  had 
written  it.  She  did  not  deny  that  she  loved  him, 
but  perhaps  Gaetano  would  not  be  able  to  find  the 
words  of  love,  they  were  so  buried  in  admonitions. 
He  could  not  have  found  them,  for  he  wrote  no 
more  letters. 

But  now  Donna  Micaela  could  no  longer  think  of 
Gaetano  as  a  shelter  and  a  support.  Now  he  was 
more  dangerous  than  the  men  from  the  mountains. 


136          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Every  day  graver  news  came  to  Diamante.  Every- 
body began  to  get  out  their  weapons.  And  although 
it  was  forbidden,  they  were  carried  secretly  by 
every  one. 

All  travellers  left  the  island,  and  in  their  place  one 
regiment  after  another  was  sent  over  from  Italy. 

The  socialists  talked  and  talked.  They  were 
possessed  by  evil  spirits ;  they  could  not  rest  until 
they  had  brought  on  the  disaster ! 

At  last  the  ringleaders  had  decided  on  the  day 
on  which  the  storm  was  to  break  loose.  All  Sicily, 
all  Italy,  was  to  rise.  It  was  no  longer  menace;  it 
was  reality. 

More  and  more  troops  came  from  the  mainland. 
Most  of  them  were  Neapolitans,  who  live  in  constant 
feud  with  the  Sicilians.  And  now  the  news  came 
that  the  island  had  been  declared  in  a  state  of  siege. 
There  were  to  be  no  more  courts  of  justice;  only 
court-martials.  And  the  people  said  that  the  sol- 
diers would  be  free  to  plunder  and  murder  as  they 
pleased. 

No  one  knew  what  was  to  happen.  Terror  seemed 
to  make  every  one  mad.  The  peasants  raised  ram- 
parts in  the  hills.  In  Diamante  men  stood  in  great 
groups  on  the  market-place,  stood  there  day  after 
day,  without  going  to  their  work.  There  was 
something  terrible  in  those  groups  of  men  dressed 
in  dark  cloaks  and  slouch  hats.  They  were  all 
probably  dreaming  of  the  hour  when  they  should 
plunder  the  summer  palace. 

The  nearer  the  day  approached  when  the  insur- 
rection was  to  break  out,  the  sicker  Don  Ferrante 
became;  and  Domv.  Micaela  began  to  fear  that  he 
would  die. 


THE  SIROCCO  137 

It  seemed  to  her  a  sign  that  she  was  predestined 
to  destruction,  that  she  was  also  losing  Don  Fer- 
rante.  Who  would  have  any  regard  for  her  when 
he  was  no  longer  alive? 

She  watched  over  him.  She  and  all  the  women 
of  the  quarter  sat  in  silent  prayer  about  his  bed. 

One  morning,  towards  six  o'clock,  Don  Ferrante 
died.  And  Donna  Micaela  mourned  him,  because 
he  had  been  her  only  protector,  and  the  only  one 
who  could  have  saved  her  from  destruction;  and  she 
wished  to  honor  the  dead,  as  is  still  the  custom  in 
Diamante. 

She  had  them  drape  the  room  where  the  body  was 
lying  with  black,  and  close  all  the  shutters,  so  that 
the  glad  sunlight  should  not  enter.  She  had  all  the 
fires  put  out  on  the  hearths,  and  sent  for  a  blind 
singer  to  come  to  the  palace  every  day  and  sing 
dirges. 

She  let  Giannita  care  for  Cavaliere  Palmeri,  so 
that  she  herself  might  sit  quiet  in  the  death-room, 
among  the  other  women. 

It  was  evening  on  the  day  of  death  before  all 
preparations  were  completed,  and  they  were  waiting 
only  for  the  White  Brotherhood  to  come  and  take 
away  the  corpse.  In  the  death-chamber  there  was 
the  silence  of  the  grave.  All  the  women  of  the 
quarter  sat  there  motionless  with  dismal  faces. 

Donna  Micaela  sat  pale  with  her  great  fear,  and 
stared  involuntarily  at  the  pall  that  was  spread  over 
the  body.  It  was  a  pall  which  belonged  to  the 
family ;  their  coat  of  arms  was  heavily  and  gorgeously 
embroidered  on  the  centre,  and  it  had  silver  fringes 
and  thick  tassels.  The  pall  had  never  been  spread 
over  any  one  but  an  Alagona.  It  seemed  to  lie  there 


138          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

so  that  Donna  Micaela  should  not  for  a  moment 
forget  that  her  last  support  had  fallen,  and  that  she 
was  now  alone,  and  without  protection  from  the 
infuriated  people. 

Some  one  came  in  and  announced  that  old 
Assunta  had  come.  Old  Assunta;  what  did  old 
Assunta  want  ?  Yes,  it  was  she  who  came  to  sing 
the  praises  of  the  dead. 

Donna  Micaela  let  Assunta  come  into  the  room. 
She  appeared  just  as  she  looked  everyday,  when  she 
sat  and  begged  on  the  Cathedral  steps;  the  same 
patched  dress,  the  same  faded  headcloth,  and  the 
same  crutch. 

Little  and  bent,  she  limped  forward  to  the  coffin. 
She  had  a  shrivelled  face,  a  sunken  mouth,  and  dull 
eyes.  Donna  Micaela  said  to  herself  that  it  was 
incarnate  helplessness  and  feebleness  who  had  come 
into  the  room. 

The  old  woman  raised  her  voice  and  began  to 
speak  in  the  wife's  name. 

"My  lord  is  dead,  and  I  am  alone!  He  who 
raised  me  to  his  side  is  dead !  Is  it  not  terrible  that 
my  home  has  lost  its  master  ?  —  Why  are  the  shutters 
of  your  windows  closed  ?  say  the  passers-by.  —  I 
answer,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  the  light,  because  my 
sorrow  is  so  great ;  my  grief  is  three-fold.  —  What, 
are  so  many  of  your  race  carried  away  by  the  White 
Brethren  ?  —  No,  none  of  my  race  is  dead,  but  I  have 
lost  my  husband,  my  husband,  my  husband  ! " 

Old  Assunta  needed  to  say  no  more.  Donna 
Micaela  burst  into  lamentations.  The  whole  room 
was  filled  with  the  sound  of  weeping  from  the  sym- 
pathetic women ;  for  there  is  no  grief  like  losing  a 
husband.  Those  who  were  widows  thought  of  what 


THE  SIROCCO  139 

they  had  lost,  and  those  who  were  not  as  yet  widows 
thought  of  the  time  when  they  would  not  be  able  to 
go  on  the  street,  because  no  husband  would  be  with 
them ;  when  they  would  be  left  to  loneliness,  poverty, 
oblivion;  when  they  would  be  nothing,  mean  noth- 
ing; when  they  would  be  the  world's  outcast  chil- 
dren because  they  no  longer  had  a  husband ;  because 
nothing  any  longer  gave  them  the  right  to  live. 

It  was  late  in  December,  the  days  between  Christ- 
mas and  the  New  Year. 

There  was  still  the  same  danger  of  insurrection, 
and  people  still  heard  terrifying  rumors.  It  was 
said  that  Falco  Falcone  had  gathered  together  a 
band  of  brigands  in  the  quarries,  and  that  he  was 
only  waiting  for  the  appointed  day  to  break  into 
Diamante  and  plunder  it. 

It  was  also  whispered  that  the  people  in  several  of 
the  small  mountain  towns  had  risen,  torn  down  the 
custom's  offices  at  the  town-gates,  and  driven  away 
the  officials. 

People  said  too  that  troops  were  passing  from 
town  to  town,  arresting  all  suspicious  people,  and 
shooting  them  down  by  hundreds. 

Every  one  said  that  they  must  fight.  They  could 
not  let  themselves  be  murdered  by  those  Italians 
without  trying  to  make  some  resistance. 

During  all  this,  Donna  Micaela  sat  tied  to  her 
father's  sick-bed,  just  as  she  had  sat  before  by  Don 
Ferrante's.  She  could  not  escape  from  Diamante, 
and  terror  so  grew  within  her  that  she  was  nothing 
but  one  trembling  fear. 

The  last  and  worst  of  all  the  messages  of  terroi 
that  reached  her  had  been  about  Gaetano. 


140          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

For  when  Don  Ferrante  had  been  dead  a  week 
Gaetano  had  come  home.  And  that  had  not  caused 
her  dismay;  it  had  only  made  her  glad.  She  had 
rejoiced  in  at  last  having  some  one  near  her  who 
could  protect  her. 

At  the  same  time  she  decided  that  she  could  not 
receive  Gaetano  if  he  came  to  see  her.  She  felt 
that  she  still  belonged  to  the  dead.  She  would 
rather  not  see  Gaetano  until  after  a  year. 

But  when  Gaetano  had  been  at  home  a  week  with- 
out coming  to  the  summer  palace,  she  asked  Giannita 
about  him.  "Where  is  Gaetano?  Has  he  perhaps 
gone  away  again,  since  no  one  speaks  of  him  ? " 

"Alas,  Micaela, "  answered  Giannita,  "the  less 
people  speak  of  Gaetano,  the  better  for  him." 

She  told  Donna  Micaela,  as  if  she  was  telling  of 
a  great  shame,  that  Gaetano  had  become  a  socialist. 

"  He  has  been  quite  transformed  over  there,  in 
England,"  she  said.  "  He  no  longer  worships  either 
God  or  the  saints.  He  does  not  kiss  the  priest's 
hand  when  he  meets  him.  He  says  to  every  one  that 
they  shall  pay  no  more  duties  at  the  town-gates. 
He  encourages  the  peasants  not  to  pay  their  rent. 
He  carries  weapons.  He  has  come  home  to  start  a 
rebellion,  to  help  the  bandits." 

She  needed  to  say  no  more  to  chill  Donna  Micaela 
with  a  greater  terror  than  she  had  ever  felt  before. 

It  was  this  that  the  sultry  days  of  the  autumn  had 
portended.  It  would  be  he  who  would  shake  the 
bolt  from  the  clouds.  Why  had  she  not  understood 
it  long  ago  ? 

It  was  a  punishment  and  a  revenge.  It  would  be 
he  who  would  bring  the  misfortune ! 

During  those  last  days  she  had  been  calmer.     She 


THE  SIROCCO  141 

had  heard  that  all  the  socialists  on  the  island  had 
been  put  in  prison,  and  all  the  little  insurrection 
fires  lighted  in  the  mountain  towns  had  been  quickly 
choked.  It  looked  almost  as  if  the  rebellion  would 
come  to  nothing! 

But  now  the  last  Alagona  was  come,  and  him  the 
people  would  follow.  Life  would  enter  into  those 
black  groups  on  the  market-place.  The  men  in  the 
linen  garments  would  climb  up  out  of  the  quarries. 

The  next  evening  Gaetano  spoke  in  the  market- 
place. He  had  sat  by  the  fountain,  and  had  seen 
how  the  people  came  to  get  water.  For  two  years 
he  had  foregone  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  slender 
girls  lift  the  heavy  water-jars  to  their  heads  and 
walk  away  with  firm,  slow  step. 

But  it  was  not  only  the  young  girls  who  came  to 
the  fountain;  there  were  people  of  all  ages.  And 
when  he  saw  how  poor  and  unhappy  most  of  them 
were,  he  began  to  talk  to  them  of  the  future. 

He  promised  them  better  times  soon.  He  said 
to  old  Assunta  that  she  hereafter  should  get  her 
daily  bread  without  needing  to  ask  alms  of  any  one. 
And  when  she  said  that  she  did  not  understand  how 
that  could  be,  he  asked  her  almost  with  anger  if  she 
did  not  know  that  now  the  time  had  come  when  no 
old  people  and  no  children  should  be  without  care 
and  shelter. 

He  pointed  to  the  old  chair-maker,  who  was  as 
poor  as  Assunta,  and  moreover  very  sick,  and  he 
asked  if  she  believed  that  the  people  would  endure 
much  longer  having  no  support  for  the  poor,  and  no 
hospitals.  Could  she  not  understand  that  it  was 
impossible  for  such  things  to  continue?  Could  they 


142  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

not  all  understand  that    hereafter   the  old  and   the 
sick  should  be  cared  for? 

He  also  saw  some  children  who,  as  he  knew,  lived 
on  cresses  and  sorrel,  which  they  gathered  on  the 
river-banks  and  by  the  roadside,  and  he  promised 
that  henceforward  no  one  should  need  to  starve. 
He  laid  his  hand  on  the  children's  heads,  and  swore 
as  solemnly  as  if  he  were  prince  of  Diamante,  that 
they  should  never  again  want  for  bread. 

They  knew  nothing  in  Diamante,  he  said;  they 
were  ignorant ;  they  did  not  understand  that  a  new 
and  blessed  time  had  come;  they  believed  that  this 
old  misery  would  continue  forever. 

While  he  was  thus  consoling  the  poor,  more  and 
more  had  gathered  about  him,  and  he  suddenly 
sprang  up,  placed  himself  on  the  steps  of  the  foun- 
tain, and  began  to  speak. 

How  could  they,  he  said,  be  so  foolish  as  to 
believe  that  nothing  better  would  come?  Should 
the  people,  who  possessed  the  whole  earth,  be  con- 
tent to  let  their  parents  starve,  and  their  children 
grow  up  to  be  good-for-nothings  and  criminals? 

Did  they  not  know  that  there  were  treasures  in 
the  mountains,  and  in  the  sea,  and  in  the  ground? 
Had  they  never  heard  that  the  earth  was  rich  ?  Did 
they  think  that  it  could  not  feed  its  children? 

They  should  not  murmur  among  themselves,  and 
say  that  it  was  impossible  to  arrange  matters  differ- 
ently. They  should  not  think  that  there  must  be 
rich  and  poor.  Alas,  they  understood  nothing! 
They  did  not  know  their  Mother  Earth.  Did  they 
think  that  she  hated  any  of  them?  They  had  lain 
down  on  the  ground  and  heard  the  earth  speak? 
Perhaps  they  had  seen  her  make  laws?  They  had 


THE  SIROCCO  143 

heard  her  pass  sentence  ?  She  had  commanded  some 
to  starve,  and  some  to  die  of  luxury? 

Why  did  they  not  open  their  ears  and  listen  to 
the  new  teachings  pouring  through  the  world? 
Would  they  not  like  to  have  a  better  life?  Did  they 
like  their  rags?  Were  they  satisfied  with  sorrel 
and  cresses?  Did  they  not  wish  to  possess  a  roof 
over  their  heads? 

And  he  told  them  that  it  made  no  difference,  no 
difference,  if  they  refused  to  believe  in  the  new 
times  that  were  coming.  They  would  come  in  spite 
of  it.  They  did  not  need  to  lift  the  sun  up  from  the 
sea  in  the  morning.  The  new  times  would  come  to 
them  as  the  sun  came,  but  why  would  they  not  be 
ready  to  meet  them  ?  Why  did  they  shut  themselves 
in,  and  fear  the  new  light? 

He  spoke  long  in  the  same  strain,  and  more  and 
more  of  the  poor  people  of  Diamante  gathered  about 
him. 

The  longer  he  continued,  the  more  beautiful  be- 
came his  speech  and  the  clearer  grew  his  voice. 

His  eyes  were  full  of  fire,  and  to  the  people  look- 
ing up  at  him,  he  seemed  as  beautiful  as  a  young 
prince. 

He  was  one  of  the  race  of  once  powerful  lords, 
who  had  possessed  means  to  shower  happiness  and 
gold  on  everybody  within  their  wide  lands.  They 
believed  him  when  he  said  that  he  had  happiness  to 
give  them.  They  felt  comforted,  and  rejoiced  that 
their  young  lord  loved  them. 

When  he  had  finished  speaking  they  began  to 
shout,  and  call  to  him  that  they  wished  to  follow 
him  and  do  what  he  commanded. 

He  had  gained  ascendency  over  them  in  a  moment. 


144          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

He  was  so  beautiful  and  so  glorious  that  they 
could  not  resist  him.  And  his  faith  seized  and 
subdued. 

That  night  there  was  not  one  poor  person  in 
Diamante  who  did  not  believe  that  Gaetano  would 
give  him  happy  days,  free  from  care.  That  night 
they  called  down  blessings  on  him,  all  those  who 
lived  in  sheds  and  out-houses.  That  night  the 
hungry  lay  down  with  the  sure  belief  that  the  next 
day  tables  groaning  under  many  dishes  would  stand 
spread  for  them  when  they  awoke. 

For  when  Gaetano  spoke,  his  power  was  so  great 
that  he  could  convince  an  old  man  that  he  was 
young,  and  a  freezing  man  that  he  was  warm.  And 
people  felt  that  what  he  promised  must  come. 

He  was  the  prince  of  the  coming  times.  His 
hands  were  generous,  and  miracles  and  blessings 
would  stream  down  over  Diamante,  now  that  he  had 
come  again. 

The  next  day,  towards  sunset,  Giannita  came  into 
the  sick-room  and  whispered  to  Donna  Micaela: 
"There  is  an  insurrection  in  Paterno.  They  have 
been  shooting  for  several  hours,  and  you  can  hear 
them  as  far  away  as  here.  Orders  for  troops  have 
already  gone  to  Catania.  And  Gaetano  says  that  it 
will  break  out  here,  too.  He  says  that  it  will  break 
out  in  all  the  towns  of  Etna  at  one  time." 

Donna  Micaela  made  a  sign  to  Giannita  to  stay 
with  her  father,  and  she  herself  went  across  the 
street  and  into  Donna  Elisa's  shop. 

Donna  Elisa  sat  behind  the  counter  with  her 
frame,  but  she  was  not  working.  The  tears  fell  so 
heavy  and  fast  that  she  had  ceased  to  embroider. 


THE  SIROCCO  145 

"Where  is  Gaetano?"  said  Donna  Micaela,  with- 
out any  preamble.  "  I  must  speak  to  him." 

"  God  give  you  strength  to  talk  to  him,"  answered 
Donna  Elisa.  "He  is  in  the  garden." 

She  went  out  across  the  court -yard  and  into  the 
walled  garden. 

In  the  garden  there  were  many  narrow  paths 
winding  from  terrace  to  terrace.  There  was  also  a 
number  of  arbors  and  grottos  and  benches.  And 
it  was  so  thick  with  stiff  agaves,  and  close-growing 
dwarf  palms,  and  thick-leaved  rubber-plants,  and 
rhododendrons,  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  two 
feet  in  front  of  one.  Donna  Micaela  walked  for  a 
long  time  on  those  innumerable  paths  before  she 
could  find  Gaetano.  The  longer  she  walked,  the 
more  impatient  she  became. 

At  last  she  found  him  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
garden.  She  caught  sight  of  him  on  the  lowest 
terrace,  built  out  on  one  of  the  bastions  of  the  wall 
of  the  town.  There  sat  Gaetano  at  ease,  and  worked 
with  chisel  and  hammer  on  a  statuette.  When  he 
saw  Donna  Micaela,  he  came  towards  her  with  out- 
stretched hands. 

She  hardly  gave  herself  time  to  greet  him.  "  Is 
it  true,"  she  said,  "that  you  have  come  home  to  be 
our  ruin?"  He  began  to  laugh.  "The  syndic  has 
been  here,"  he  said.  "The  priest  has  been  here. 
Are  you  coming  too?" 

It  wounded  her  that  he  laughed,  and  that  he  spoke 
of  the  priest  and  the  syndic.  It  was  something 
different,  and  more,  that  she  came. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  stiffly,  "if  it  is  true  that 
we  are  to  have  an  uprising  this  evening."  —  "Oh, 
no,"  he  answered;  "we  shall  have  no  uprising." 

10 


146          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

And  he  said  it  in  such  a  voice  that  it  almost  made 
her  sorry  for  him. 

"You  cause  Donna  Elisa  great  grief,"  she  burst 
out. — "And  you  too,  do  I  not?"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  sneer.  "I  cause  you  all  sorrow.  I  am  the 
lost  son;  I  am  Judas.  I  am  the  angel  of  justice 
who  is  driving  you  from  that  paradise  where  people 
eat  grass." 

She  answered :  "  Perhaps  we  think  that  what  we 
have  is  better  than  being  shot  by  the  soldiers."  — 
"  Yes,  of  course ;  it  is  better  to  starve  to  death.  We 
are  used  to  that." —  "Nor  is  it  pleasant  to  be  mur- 
dered by  bandits."  —  "But  why  for  Heaven's  sake 
have  any  bandits,  if  you  do  not  want  to  be  murdered 
by  them?"  —  "Yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  more  pas- 
sionately, "  that  you  want  all  the  rich  to  perish. " 

He  did  not  answer  immediately;  he  stood  and  bit 
his  lips,  so  as  not  to  lose  his  temper.  "Let  me 
talk  with  you,  Donna  Micaela!"  he  said  at  last. 
"Let  me  explain  it  to  you!" 

At  the  same  time  he  put  on  a  patient  expression. 
He  talked  socialism  with  her,  so  clear  and  simple 
that  a  child  could  have  understood. 

But  she  was  far  from  being  able  to  follow  it. 
Perhaps  she  could  have,  but  she  did  not  wish  to. 
She  did  not  wish  just  then  to  hear  of  socialism. 

It  had  been  so  wonderful  to  her  to  see  him.  The 
ground  had  rocked  under  her ;  and  something  glorious 
and  blessed  had  passed  through  and  quite  overcome 
her.  "  God,  it  is  he  whom  I  love ! "  she  said  to 
herself.  "It  is  really  he." 

Before  she  had  seen  him  she  had  known  very  well 
what  she  would  say  to  him.  She  would  have  led 
him  back  to  the  faith  of  his  childhood.  She  would 


THE  SIROCCO  147 

have  shown  him  that  those  new  teachings  were 
detestable  and  dangerous.  But  then  love  came.  It 
made  her  confused  and  stupid.  She  could  not 
answer  him.  She  only  sat  and  wondered  that  he 
could  talk. 

She  wondered  if  he  was  much  handsomer  now 
than  formerly.  Formerly  she  had  not  been  confused 
at  all  when  she  saw  him.  She  had  never  been 
attracted  to  that  extent.  Or  was  it  that  he  had 
become  a  free,  strong  man?  She  was  frightened 
when  she  felt  how  he  subdued  her. 

She  dared  not  contradict  him.  She  dared  not 
even  speak,  for  fear  of  bursting  into  tears.  Had  she 
dared  to  speak,  she  would  not  have  talked  of  public 
affairs.  She  would  have  told  him  what  she  had  felt 
the  day  the  bells  rang.  Or  she  would  have  prayed 
to  be  allowed  to  kiss  his  hand.  She  would  have 
told  him  how  she  had  dreamed  of  him.  She  would 
have  said  that  if  she  had  not  had  him  to  dream  of 
she  could  not  have  borne  her  life.  She  would  have 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  kiss  his  hand  in  gratitude, 
because  he  had  given  her  life  all  these  years. 

If  there  was  to  be  no  uprising,  why  did  he  talk 
socialism?  What  had  socialism  to  do  with  them, 
sitting  alone  in  Donna  Elisa's  garden?  She  sat 
and  looked  along  one  of  the  paths.  Luca  had  put 
up  wooden  arches  on  both  sides  of  it,  and  up  these 
climbed  garlands  of  light  rose-shoots,  full  of  little 
buds  and  flowers.  One  always  wondered  whither 
one  was  coming  when  one  went  along  that  path. 
And  one  came  to  a  little  weather-beaten  cupid.  Old 
Luca  understood  things  better  than  Gaetano. 

While  they  sat  there  the  sun  set,  and  Etna  grew 
rosy-red.  It  was  as  if  Etna  flushed  with  anger  at 


148          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

what  was  going  on  in  Donna  Elisa's  garden.  It  was 
at  sunset,  when  Etna  glowed  red,  that  she  had 
always  thought  of  Gaetano.  It  seemed  as  if  they 
both  had  been  waiting  for  it.  And  they  had  both 
arranged  how  it  would  be  when  Gaetano  came.  She 
had  only  feared  that  he  would  be  too  fiery,  and  too 
passionately  wild.  And  he  talked  only  of  those 
dreadful  Socialists,  whom  she  detested  and  feared. 

He  talked  a  long  time.  She  saw  Etna  grow  pale 
and  become  bronze-brown,  and  then  the  darkness 
came.  She  knew  that  there  would  be  moonlight. 
There  she  sat  quite  still,  and  hoped  for  help  from 
the  moonlight.  She  herself  could  do  nothing.  She 
was  entirely  in  his  power.  But  when  the  moon- 
light came,  it  did  not  help  either.  He  continued  to 
talk  of  capitalists  and  working-men. 

Then  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  there  could  be  but  one 
explanation  for  all  this.  He  must  have  ceased  to 
love  her. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  something.  It  was  a 
week  ago.  It  was  the  same  day  that  Gaetano  had 
come  home.  She  had  come  into  Giannita's  room, 
but  she  had  walked  so  softly  that  Giannita  had  not 
heard  her.  She  had  seen  Giannita  stand  as  if  in 
ecstasy,  with  up-stretched  arms  and  up-turned  face. 
And  in  her  hands  she  held  a  picture.  First  she 
carried  it  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it,  then  she  lifted 
it  up  over  her  head  and  looked  up  to  it  in  rapture. 
And  the  picture  had  been  of  Gaetano. 

When  Donna  Micaela  had  seen  that,  she  had 
gone  away  as  silently  as  she  had  come.  She  had 
only  thought  then  that  Giannita  was  to  be  pitied  if 
she  loved  Gaetano.  But  now,  when  Gaetano  only 
talked  socialism,  now  she  remembered  it. 


THE  SJROCCO  149 

Now  she  began  to  think  that  Gactano  also  loved 
Giannita.  She  remembered  that  they  were  friends 
from  childhood.  He  had  perhaps  loved  her  a  long 
time.  Perhaps  he  had  come  home  to  marry  her. 
Donna  Micaela  could  say  nothing ;  she  had  nothing 
to  complain  of.  It  was  scarcely  a  month  since  she 
wrote  to  Gaetano  that  it  was  not  right  of  him  to 
love  her. 

He  now  leaned  towards  her,  enchained  her  glance, 
and  actually  compelled  her  to  listen  to  what  he  was 
saying. 

"  You  shall  understand ;  you  shall  see  and  under- 
stand, Donna  Micaela !  What  we  need  here  in  the 
South  is  a  regeneration,  a  pulling  up  by  the  roots, 
such  as  Christianity  was  in  its  time.  Up  with  the 
slaves ;  down  with  the  masters !  A  plow  which 
turns  up  new  social  furrows !  We  must  sow  in  new 
earth;  the  old  earth  is  impoverished.  The  old 
surface  furrows  bear  only  weak,  miserable  growth. 
Let  the  deep  earth  come  up  to  the  light,  and  we 
shall  see  something  different ! 

"  See,  Donna  Micaela,  why  does  socialism  live ; 
why  has  it  not  gone  under?  Because  it  comes  with 
a  new  word.  '  Think  of  the  earth,'  it  says,  just  as 
Christianity  came  with  the  word,  '  Think  of  heaven.' 
Look  about  you !  Look  at  the  earth ;  is  it  not  all 
that  we  possess?  Let  us  therefore  establish  our- 
selves here  so  that  we  shall  be  happy.  Why,  why, 
has  no  one  thought  of  it  before?  Because  we  have 
been  so  busy  with  that  Hereafter.  Let  us  leave  the 
Hereafter!  The  earth,  the  earth,  Donna  Micaela! 
Ah,  we  socialists,  we  love  her !  We  worship  the 
sacred  earth,  —  the  poor,  despised  mother,  who  wears 
mourning  because  her  children  yearn  for  heaven. 


I$0          THE   MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"Believe  me,  Donna  Micaela,"  he  said,  "it  will 
be  accomplished  in  less  than  seven  years.  In  the 
year  nineteen  hundred  it  will  be  ready.  Then 
martyrs  will  have  bled;  then  apostles  will  have 
spoken ;  then  shall  crowds  upon  crowds  have  been 
won  over!  We,  the  rightful  sons  of  the  earth, 
shall  have  the  victory!  And  she  shall  lie  before 
us  in  all  her  loveliness;  she  shall  bring  us  beauty, 
bring  us  pleasure,  bring  us  knowledge,  bring  us 
health!" 

Gaetano's  voice  began  to  tremble,  and  tears  quiv- 
ered in  his  eyes.  He  went  forward  to  the  edge  of 
the  terrace,  and  he  stretched  out  his  arms  as  if  to 
embrace  the  moonlit  earth.  "  You  are  so  dazzlingly 
beautiful,"  he  said,  "so  dazzlingly  beautiful!" 

And  Donna  Micaela  for  a  moment  thought  she 
felt  his  grief  over  all  the  sorrow  that  lay  under  the 
surface  of  beauty.  She  saw  life  full  of  vice  and 
suffering,  like  a  dirty  river  filled  with  the  stench  of 
uncleanliness,  wind  through  the  glistening  world 
of  beauty. 

"And  no  one  can  enjoy  you,"  said  Gaetano;  "no 
one  can  dare  to  enjoy  you.  You  are  untamed,  and 
full  of  whims  and  anger.  You  are  uncertainty  and 
peril;  you  are  sorrow  and  pain;  you  are  want  and 
shame;  you  are  the  force  that  grinds;  you  are  every- 
thing terrible  that  can  be  named,  because  the  people 
have  not  wished  to  make  you  better. 

"But  your  day  will  come,"  he  said,  triumphantly. 
" Some  day  they  will  turn  to  you  with  all  their  love; 
they  will  not  turn  to  a  dream,  which  gives  nothing 
and  is  good  for  nothing." 

She  interrupted  him  roughly.  She  began  to  fear 
him  more  and  more. 


THE   SIROCCO  151 

"  So  it  is  true  that  you  have  had  no  success  in 
England?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"People  say  that  the  great  master,  to  whom  Miss 
Tottenham  sent  you,  has  said  that  you  —  " 

"  What  has  he  said  ?  " 

"That  you  and  your  images  suited  Diamante,  but 
nowhere  else." 

"  Who  says  such  things  ?  " 

"People  think  so,  because  you  are  so  changed." 

"Since  I  am  a  socialist." 

"Why  should  you  be  one  if  you  had  been  suc- 
cessful ? " 

"Ah,  why —  ?  You  do  not  know,"  he  continued, 
with  a  laugh,  "that  my  master  in  England  himself 
was  a  socialist.  You  do  not  know  that  it  was  he 
who  taught  me  these  opinions  —  " 

He  paused,  and  did  not  go  on  with  the  controversy. 
He  went  over  to  the  bench  where  he  had  been  sit- 
ting when  she  came,  and  brought  back  a  statuette. 
He  handed  it  to  Donna  Micaela.  He  seemed  to 
wish  to  say :  "  See  for  yourself  if  you  are  right." 

She  took  it,  and  held  it  up  in  the  moonlight.  It 
svas  a  Mater  Dolorosa  in  black  marble.  She  could 
see  it  quite  plainly. 

She  could  also  recognize  it.  The  image  had  her 
own  features.  It  intoxicated  her  for  a  moment.  In 
the  next  she  was  filled  with  horror.  He,  a  socialist; 
he,  an  unbeliever;  he  dared  to  create  a  Madonna! 
And  he  had  given  the  image  her  features!  He 
entangled  her  in  his  sin! 

"  I  have  done  it  for  you,  Donna  Micaela,"  he  said. 

Ah,  since  it  was  hers !  She  threw  it  out  over  the 
balustrade.  It  struck  against  the  steep  mountain 


152  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

side;  fell  deeper  and  deeper;  broke  loose  stones, 
and  certainly  shattered  itself  to  pieces.  At  last  a 
splash  was  heard  down  in  Simeto. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  carve  Madonnas  ?  "  she 
asked  Gaetano. 

He  stood  silent.  He  had  never  seen  Donna 
Micaela  thus. 

In  the  moment  when  she  rose  up  before  him  she 
had  become  tall  and  stately.  The  beauty  that  always 
came  and  went  in  her,  like  an  uneasy  guest,  was 
enthroned  in  her  face.  She  looked  cold  and  inflexi- 
ble ;  a  woman  to  win  and  conquer. 

"Then  you  still  believe  in  God,  since  you  carve 
Madonnas  ?  "  she  said. 

He  breathed  hurriedly.  Now  it  was  he  who  was 
paralyzed.  He  had  been  a  believer  himself.  He 
knew  how  he  had  wounded  her.  He  saw  that  he 
had  forfeited  her  love.  He  had  made  a  terrible, 
infinite  chasm  between  them. 

He  must  speak,  must  win  her  over  to  his  side. 

He  began  again,  but  feebly  and  falteringly. 

She  listened  quietly  for  a  while.  Then  she  inter- 
rupted him  almost  compassionately. 

"  How  did  you  become  so  ? " 

"I  thought  of  Sicily,"  he  said  submissively. 

"You  thought  of  Sicily,"  she  repeated  thought- 
fully. "And  why  did  you  come  home?  " 

<:  I  came  home  to  cause  an  insurrection." 

It  was  as  if  they  had  spoken  of  an  illness,  a  chill, 
that  he  had  contracted,  and  that  could  quite  easily 
be  cured. 

"You  came  home  to  be  our  ruin,"  she  said, 
sternly. 

"As  you  will;  as  you  will,"  he  said,  complying. 


THE  SIROCCO  153 

"You  can  call  it  so.  As  everything  is  going  now, 
you  are  certainly  right  to  call  it  so.  Ah,  if  they 
had  not  given  me  false  information;  if  I  had  not 
come  a  week  too  late!  Is  it  not  like  us  Sicilians  to 
let  the  government  anticipate  us?  When  I  came 
the  leaders  were  already  arrested,  the  island  garri- 
soned with  forty  thousand  men.  Everything  lost ! " 

It  sounded  strangely  blank  when  he  said  that 
"everything  lost."  And  for  that  which  never  could 
be  anything,  he  had  lost  happiness.  His  opinions 
and  principles  seemed  to  him  now  to  be  dry  cob- 
webs, which  had  captured  him.  He  wished  to  tear 
himself  away  to  come  to  her.  She  was  the  only 
reality,  the  only  thing  that  was  his.  So  he  had  felt 
before.  It  came  back  now.  She  was  the  only 
thing  in  the  world. 

"They  are,  however,  fighting  to-day  in  Patern6." 

"There  has  been  a  disagreement  by  the  town- 
gate,"  he  said.  "It  is  nothing.  If  I  had  been  able 
to  inflame  all  Etna,  the  whole  circle  of  towns  round 
about  Etna !  Then  they  would  have  understood  us ! 
they  would  have  listened  to  us !  Now  they  are  shoot- 
ing down  a  few  hungry  peasants  to  make  a  few  hungry 
mouths  the  less.  They  do  not  yield  an  inch  to  us." 

He  strove  to  break  through  his  cobwebs.  Could 
he  venture  to  go  up  to  her,  to  tell  her  that  all  that 
was  of  no  importance?  He  did  not  need  to  think  of 
politics.  He  was  an  artist ;  he  was  free !  And  he 
wanted  to  possess  her ! 

Suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  the  air  trembled.  A 
shot  echoed  through  the  night,  then  another  and 
another. 

She  came  forward  to  him  and  grasped  his  wrist. 
"Is  that  the  uprising?"  she  asked. 


154 

Shot  upon  shot  came  thundering.  Then  were 
heard  the  cries  and  din  of  a  crowd  rushing  down  the 
street. 

"It  is  the  uprising;  it  must  be  the  uprising! 
Ah,  long  live  socialism!" 

He  was  filled  with  joy.  Entire  faith  in  his  belief 
came  back  to  him.  He  would  win  her  too.  Women 
have  never  refused  to  belong  to  the  victor. 

They  both  hurried  without  another  word  through 
the  garden  to  the  door.  There  Gaetano  began  to 
swear  and  call.  He  could  not  get  out.  There  was 
no  key  in  the  lock.  He  was  shut  into  the  garden. 

He  looked  about.  There  were  high  walls  on  three 
sides,  and  on  the  fourth  an  abyss.  There  was  no 
way  out  for  him.  But  from  the  town  came  a  terri- 
ble noise.  The  people  were  rushing  up  and  down ; 
there  were  shots  and  cries.  And  they  heard  them 
yell :  "  Long  live  freedom  !  Long  live  socialism ! 
He  threw  himself  against  the  door,  and  almost 
shrieked.  He  was  imprisoned;  he  could  not  take 
part. 

Donna  Micaela  came  up  to  him  as  quickly  as  she 
could.  Now,  since  she  had  heard  him,  she  no 
longer  thought  of  keeping  him  back. 

"  Wait,  wait ! "  she  said.     "  I  took  the  key. " 

"  You,  you ! "  he  said. 

"  I  took  it  when  I  came.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
I  could  keep  you  shut  in  here  if  you  should  want  to 
cause  an  uprising.  I  wished  to  save  you." 

"  What  folly ! "  he  said,  and  snatched  the  key 
from  her. 

While  he  stood  and  fumbled  to  find  the  key-hole, 
he  still  had  time  to  say  something. 

"  Why  do  you  not  want  to  save  me  now  ? " 


THE  SIROCCO  155 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Perhaps  so  that  your  God  may  have  a  chance  to 
destroy  me. " 

She  was  still  silent. 

"  Do  you  not  dare  to  save  me  from  His  wrath  ? " 

"No,  I  do  not  dare,"  she  said  quietly. 

"You  believers  are  terrible!"  he  said. 

He  felt  that  she  threw  him  aside.  It  froze  him, 
and  took  away  his  courage,  that  she  did  not  make  a 
single  attempt  to  persuade  him  to  stay.  He  turned 
the  key  forward  and  back  without  being  able  to  open 
the  door,  paralyzed  by  her  standing  there  pale  and 
cold  behind  him. 

Then  he  suddenly  felt  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  her  lips  seeking  his. 

At  the  same  moment  the  door  flew  open  and  he 
rushed  away.  He  would  not  have  her  kisses,  which 
only  consecrated  him  to  death.  She  was  as  terrible 
as  a  spectre  to  him  with  her  ancient  faith.  He 
rushed  away  like  a  fugitive. 


156         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


XI 

THE   FEAST   OF   SAN   SEBASTIANO 

WHEN  Gaetano  rushed  away,  Donna  Micaela  stood 
for  a  long  time  in  Donna  Elisa's  garden.  She  stood 
there  as  if  turned  to  stone,  and  could  neither  feel 
nor  think. 

Then  suddenly  the  thought  came  that  Gaetano 
and  she  were  not  alone  in  the  world.  She  remem- 
bered her  father  lying  sick,  whom  she  had  forgotten 
for  so  many  hours. 

She  went  through  the  gate  of  the  court-yard  out 
to  the  Corso,  which  lay  deserted  and  empty.  Tumult 
and  shots  were  still  audible  far  away,  and  she  said 
to  herself  that  they  must  be  fighting  down  by  Porta 
Etnea. 

The  moon  shed  its  clear  light  on  the  facade  of  the 
summer-palace,  and  it  amazed  her  that  at  such  an 
hour,  and  on  such  a  night,  the  balcony  doors  stood 
open,  and  the  window  shutters  were  not  closed. 
She  was  still  more  surprised  that  the  gate  was 
standing  ajar,  and  that  the  shop-door  was  wide 
open. 

As  she  went  in  through  the  gate,  she  did  not  see 
the  old  gate-keeper,  Piero,  there.  The  lanterns  in 
the  court-yard  were  not  lighted,  and  there  was  not  a 
soul  to  be  seen  anywhere. 

She  went  up  the  steps  to  the  gallery,  and  her 
foot  struck  against  somethHr  hard.  It  was  a  little 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO    157 

bronze  vase,  which  belonged  in  the  music-room. 
A  few  steps  higher  up  she  found  a  knife.  It 
was  a  sheath-knife,  with  a  long,  dagger-like  blade. 
When  she  lifted  it  up  a  couple  of  dark  drops  rolled 
down  from  its  edge.  She  knew  that  it  must  be 
blood. 

And  she  understood  too  that  what  she  had  feared 
all  the  autumn  had  now  happened.  Bandits  had 
been  in  the  summer-palace  for  plunder.  And  every- 
one who  could  run  away  had  run  away;  but  her 
father,  who  could  not  leave  his  bed,  must  be 
murdered. 

She  could  not  tell  whether  the  brigands  were  not 
still  in  the  house.  But  now,  in  the  midst  of  danger, 
her  fears  vanished;  and  she  hurried  on,  unheeding 
that  she  was  alone  and  defenceless. 

She  went  along  the  gallery  into  the  music-room. 
Broad  rays  of  moonlight  fell  upon  the  floor,  and 
in  one  of  those  rays  lay  a  human  form  stretched 
motionless. 

Donna  Micaela  bent  down  over  that  motionless 
body.  It  was  Giannita.  She  was  murdered;  she 
had  a  deep,  gaping  wound  in  her  neck. 

Donna  Micaela  laid  the  body  straight,  crossed  the 
hands  over  the  breast,  and  closed  the  eyes.  In  so 
doing,  her  hands  were  wet  with  the  blood ;  and  when 
she  felt  that  warm,  sticky  blood,  she  began  to  weep. 
"Alas,  my  dear,  beloved  sister,"  she  said  aloud,  "it 
is  your  young  life  that  has  ebbed  away  with  this 
blood.  All  your  life  you  have  loved  me,  and  now 
you  have  shed  your  blood  defending  my  house.  Is 
it  to  punish  my  hardness  that  God  has  taken  you 
from  me?  Is  it  because  I  did  not  allow  you  to  love 
him  whom  I  loved  that  you  have  gone  from  me? 


158         THE  MIRACLES  OF    ANTICHRIST 

Alas,  sister,  sister,  could  you  not  have  punished  me 
less  severely  ? " 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  the  dead  girl's  forehead. 
"You  do  not  believe  it,"  she  said.  "You  know 
that  I  have  always  been  faithful  to  you.  You  know 
that  I  have  loved  you. " 

She  remembered  that  the  dead  was  severed  from 
everything  earthly,  that  it  was  not  grief  and  assur- 
ances of  friendship  she  needed.  She  said  a  prayer 
over  the  body,  since  the  only  thing  she  could  do  for 
her  sister  was  to  support  with  pious  thoughts  the 
flight  of  the  soul  soaring  up  to  God. 

Then  she  went  on,  no  longer  afraid  of  anything 
that  could  happen  to  herself,  but  in  inexpressible 
terror  of  what  might  have  happened  to  her  father. 

When  she  had  at  last  passed  through  the  long 
halls  in  the  state  apartment  and  stood  by  the  door 
to  the  sick-room,  her  hands  groped  a  long  time  for 
the  latch ;  and  when  she  had  found  it,  she  had  not 
the  strength  to  turn  the  key. 

Then  her  father  called  from  his  room  and  asked 
who  was  there.  When  she  heard  his  voice  and  knew 
that  he  was  alive,  everything  in  her  trembled,  and 
burst,  and  lost  its  power  to  serve  her.  Brain  and 
heart  failed  her  at  once,  and  her  muscles  could  no 
longer  hold  her  upright.  She  had  still  time  to 
think  that  she  had  been  living  in  terrible  suspense. 
And  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  she  sank  down  in  a 
long  swoon. 

Donna  Micaela  regained  consciousness  towards 
morning.  In  the  meantime  much  had  happened. 
The  servants  had  come  out  of  their  hiding-places, 
and  had  gone  for  Donna  Elisa.  She  had  taken 
charge  of  the  deserted  palace,  had  summoned  the 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIAXO       1 59 

police,  and  sent  a  message  to  the  White  Brother- 
hood. And  the  latter  had  carried  Giannita's  body 
to  her  mother's  house. 

When  Donna  Micaela  awoke,  she  found  herself 
lying  on  the  sofa  in  a  room  next  her  father's.  No 
one  was  with  her,  but  in  her  father's  room  she  heard 
Donna  Elisa  talking. 

"My  son  and  my  daughter,"  said  Donna  Elisa, 
sobbing ;  "  I  have  lost  both  my  son  and  my  daughter. " 

Donna  Micaela  tried  to  raise  herself,  but  she 
could  not.  Her  body  still  lay  in  a  stupor,  although 
her  soul  was  awake. 

"Cavaliere,  Cavaliere,"  said  Donna  Elisa,  "can 
you  understand  ?  The  bandits  come  here  from  Etna, 
creeping  down  to  Diamante.  The  bandits  attack 
the  custom-house  and  shout :  '  Long  live  Socialism  ! ' 
They  do  it  only  to  frighten  people  away  from  the 
streets  and  to  draw  the  Carabiniere  down  to  Porta 
Etnea.  There  is  not  a  single  man  from  Dia- 
mante who  has  anything  to  do  with  it.  It  is  the 
bandits  who  arrange  it  all,  to  be  able  to  plunder 
Miss  Tottenham  and  Donna  Micaela,  two  women, 
Cavaliere!  What  did  those  officers  think  at  the 
court-martial  ?  Did  they  believe  that  Gaetano  was 
in  league  with  the  bandits?  Did  they  not  see  that 
he  was  a  nobleman,  a  true  Alagona,  an  artist  ?  How 
could  they  have  sentenced  him  ?  " 

Donna  Micaela  listened  with  horror,  but  she  tried 
to  imagine  that  she  was  still  dreaming.  She  thought 
she  heard  Gaetano  ask  if  she  was  sacrificing  him  to 
God.  She  thought  she  answered  that  she  did.  Now 
she  was  dreaming  of  how  it  would  be  in  case  he 
really  had  been  captured.  It  could  be  nothing  else. 

"  What  a  night  of  misfortune ! "  said  Donna  Elisa. 


i6o 

"What  is  flying  about  in  the  air,  and  making  people 
mad  and  confused  ?  You  have  seen  Gaetano,  Cava- 
liere.  He  has  always  been  passionate  and  fiery,  but 
it  has  not  been  without  intelligence;  he  has  not 
been  without  sense  and  judgment.  But  to-night  he 
throws  himself  right  into  the  arms  of  the  troops. 
You  know  that  he  wanted  to  cause  an  uprising;  you 
know  that  he  came  home  for  that.  And  when  he 
hears  the  shooting,  and  some  one  shouting,  '  Long 
live  Socialism!"  he  becomes  wild,  and  beside  him- 
self. He  says  to  himself,  '  That  is  the  insurrection  ! ' 
and  he  rushes  down  the  street  to  join  it.  And  he 
shouts  the  whole  time,  '  Long  live  Socialism ! '  as 
loud  as  he  can.  And  so  he  meets  a  great  crowd  of 
soldiers,  a  whole  host.  For  they  were  on  their  way 
to  Paterno,  and  he?a'd  the  shooting  as  they  passed 
by,  and  marched  in  to  see  what  was  going  on.  And 
Gaetano  can  no  longer  recognize  a  soldier's  cap. 
He  thinks  that  they  are  the  rebels;  he  thinks  that 
they  are  angels  from  heaven,  ana  he  rushes  in  among 
them  and  lets  them  capture  him.  And  they,  who 
have  already  caught  all  the  bandits  sneaking  away 
with  their  booty,  now  lay  hands  on  Gaetano  too. 
They  go  through  the  town  and  find  everything 
quiet;  but  before  they  leave,  they  pass  sentence  on 
their  prisoners.  And  they  condemn  Gaetano  like 
the  others,  condemn  him  like  those  who  have  broken 
in  and  murdered  women.  Have  they  not  lost  their 
senses,  Cavaliere  ? " 

Donna  Micaela  could  not  hear  what  her  father 
answered.  She  wished  to  ask  a  thousand  questions, 
but  she  was  still  paralyzed  and  could  not  move. 
She  wondered  if  Gaetano  had  been  shot. 

"  What  do  they  mean  by  sentencing  him  to  twenty- 


nine  years' imprisonment?  "  said  Donna  Elisa.  "Do 
you  think  that  he  can  live  so  long,  or  that  any  one 
who  loves  him  can  live  so  long?  He  is  dead, 
Cavaliere;  as  dead  for  me  as  Giannita." 

Donna  Micaela  felt  as  if  strong  fetters  bound  her 
beyond  escape.  It  was  worse,  she  thought,  than  to 
be  tied  to  a  pillory  and  whipped. 

"All  the  joy  of  my  old  age  is  taken  from  me,"  said 
Donna  Elisa.  "  Both  Giannita  and  Gaetano !  I  have 
always  expected  them  to  marry  each  other.  It 
would  have  been  so  suitable,  because  they  were  both 
my  children,  and  loved  me.  For  what  shall  I  live 
now,  when  I  have  no  young  people  about  me?  I 
was  often  poor  when  Gaetano  first  came  to  me,  and 
people  said  to  me  that  I  should  have  been  better  off 
alone.  But  I  answered :  '  It  makes  no  difference, 
none,  if  only  I  have  young  people  about  me. '  And 
I  thought  that  when  he  grew  up  he  would  find  a 
young  wife,  and  then  they  would  have  little  chil- 
dren, and  I  would  never  need  to  sit  a  lonely  and 
useless  old  woman." 

Donna  Micaela  lay  thinking  that  she  could  have 
saved  Gaetano,  but  had  not  wished  to  do  so.  But 
why  had  she  not  wished?  It  seemed  to  her  quite 
incomprehensible.  She  began  to  count  up  to  her- 
self all  her  reasons  for  permitting  him  to  rush  to 
destruction.  He  was  an  atheist;  a  socialist;  he 
wished  to  cause  a  revolt.  That  had  outweighed 
everything  else  when  she  opened  the  garden  gate  for 
him.  It  had  crushed  her  love  also.  She  could  not 
now  understand  it.  It  was  as  if  a  scale  full  of 
feathers  had  weighed  down  a  scale  full  of  gold. 

"  My  beautiful  boy  !  "  said  Donna  Elisa,  "  my  beau- 
tiful boy!  He  was  already  a  great  man  over  there 

ii 


I 
162          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

in  England,  and  he  came  home  to  help  us  poof 
Sicilians.  And  now  they  have  sentenced  him  like 
a  bandit.  People  say  that  they  were  ready  to  shoot 
him,  as  they  shot  the  others.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  better  if  they  had  done  so,  Cavaliere.  It 
had  been  better  to  have  laid  him  in  the  church-yard 
than  to  know  that  he  was  in  prison.  How  will  he 
be  able  to  endure  all  his  suffering?  He  will  not 
be  able  to  bear  it;  he  will  fall  ill;  he  will  soon  be 
dead." 

At  these  words,  Donna  Micaela  roused  herself 
from  her  stupor,  and  got  up  from  the  sofa.  She 
staggered  across  the  room  and  came  in  to  her 
father  and  Donna  Elisa,  as  pale  as  poor  murdered 
Giannita.  She  was  so  weak  that  she  did  not  dare  to 
cross  the  floor;  she  stood  at  the  door  and  leaned 
against  the  door-post. 

"It  is  I,"  she  said;  "Donna  Elisa,  it  is  I  —  " 

The  words  would  not  come  to  her  lips.  She 
wrung  her  hands  in  despair  that  she  could  not 
speak. 

Donna  Elisa  was  instantly  at  her  side.  She  put 
her  arm  about  her  to  support  her,  without  paying 
any  attention  to  Donna  Micaela's  attempt  to  push 
her  away. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Donna  Elisa,"  she  said, 
with  an  almost  inaudible  voice.  "I  did  it." 

Donna  Elisa  did  not  heed  much  what  she  was 
saying.  She  saw  that  she  had  fever,  and  thought 
that  she  was  delirious. 

Donna  Micaela's  lips  worked;  she  plainly  wished 
to  say  something,  but  only  a  few  words  were  audible. 
It  was  impossible  to  understand  what  she  meant. 
"Against  him,  as  against  my  father,"  she  said,  over 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO       163 

and   over.     And   then   she    said    something    about 
bringing  misfortune  on  all  who  loved  her. 

Donna  Elisa  had  got  her  down  on  a  chair,  and 
Donna  Micaela  sat  there  and  kissed  her  old,  wrinkled 
hands,  and  asked  her  to  forgive  her  what  she  had 
done. 

Yes,  of  course,  of  course,  Donna  Elisa  forgave  her. 

Donna  Micaela  looked  her  sharply  in  the  face 
with  great,  feverish  eyes,  and  asked  if  it  were  true. 

It  was  really  true. 

Then  she  laid  her  head  on  Donna  Elisa's  shoulder 
and  sobbed,  thanked  her,  and  said  that  she  could  not 
live  if  she  did  not  obtain  her  forgiveness.  She  had 
sinned  against  no  one  so  much  as  against  her. 
Could  she  forgive  her? 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Donna  Elisa  again  and  again, 
and  thought  that  the  other  was  out  of  her  head  from 
fever  and  fright. 

"There  is  something  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  said 
Donna  Micaela.  "  I  know  it,  but  you  do  not  knovr 
it.  You  will  not  torgive  me  if  you  hear  it." 

"Yes,  of  course  I  forgive  you,"  said  Donna  Elisa. 

They  talked  in  that  way  for  a  long  time  without 
understanding  each  other;  but  it  was  good  for  old 
Donna  Elisa  to  have  some  one  that  night  to  put  to 
bed,  comforted  and  dosed  with  strengthening  herbs 
and  drops.  It  was  good  for  her  to  still  have  some 
one  to  come  and  lay  her  head  on  her  shoulder  and 
cry  away  her  grief. 

Donna  Micaela,  who  had  loved  Gaetano  for  nearly 
three  years  without  a  thought  that  they  could  ever 
belong  to  each  other,  had  accustomed  herself  to  a 
strange  kind  of  love.  It  was  enough  for  her  to  know 


1 64          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

that  Gaetano  loved  her.  When  she  thought  of  it,  a 
tender  feeling  of  security  and  happiness  stole  through 
her.  "  What  does  it  matter ;  what  does  it  matter  ?  " 
she  said,  when  she  suffered  adversity.  "Gaetano 
loves  me."  He  was  always  with  her,  cheering  and 
comforting  her.  He  took  part  in  all  her  thoughts 
and  undertakings.  He  was  the  soul  of  her  life. 

As  soon  as  Donna  Micaela  could  get  his  address, 
she  wrote  to  him.  She  acknowledged  to  him  that 
she  had  firmly  believed  that  he  had  gone  to  misfor- 
tune. But  she  had  been  so  much  afraid  of  what  he 
proposed  to  accomplish  in  the  world  that  she  had 
not  dared  to  save  him. 

She  also  wrote  how  she  detested  his  teachings. 
She  did  not  dissemble  at  all  to  him.  She  said  that 
even  if  he  were  free  she  could  not  be  his. 

She  feared  him.  He  had  such  power  over  her 
that,  if  they  were  united,  he  would  make  her  a 
socialist  and  an  atheist.  Therefore  she  must  always 
live  apart  from  him,  for  the  salvation  of  her  soul. 

But  she  begged  and  prayed  that  in  spite  of  every- 
thing he  would  not  cease  to  love  her.  He  must  not ; 
he  must  not!  He  might  punish  her  in  any  way  he 
pleased,  if  only  he  did  not  cease  to  love  her. 

He  must  not  do  as  her  father  had.  He  had  perhaps 
reason  to  close  his  heart  to  her  now,  but  he  must 
not.  He  must  be  merciful. 

If  he  knew  how  she  loved  him  !  If  he  knew  how 
she  dreamed  of  him  ! 

She  told  him  that  he  was  nothing  less  than  life 
itself  to  her. 

"  Must  I  die,  Gaetano  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Is  it  not  enough  that  those  opinions  and  teach- 
ings part  us  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  they  have 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAX  SEBASTIANO        16$ 

carried  you  to  prison  ?  Will  you  also  cease  to  love 
me,  because  we  do  not  think  alike? 

"Ah,  Gaetano,  love  me!  It  leads  to  nothing; 
there  is  no  hope  in  your  love,  but  love  me;  I  die  if 
you  do  not  love  me." 

Donna  Micaela  had  hardly  sent  off  the  letter 
before  she  began  to  wait  for  the  answer.  She 
expected  a  stormy  and  angry  reply,  but  she  hoped 
that  there  would  be  one  single  word  to  show  her 
that  he  still  loved  her. 

But  she  waited  several  weeks  without  receiving 
any  letter  from  Gaetano. 

It  did  not  help  her  to  stand  and  wait  every  morn- 
ing for  the  letter-carrier  out  on  the  gallery,  and 
almost  break  his  heart  because  he  was  always  obliged 
to  say  that  he  did  not  have  anything  for  her. 

One  day  she  went  herself  to  the  post-office,  and 
asked  them,  with  the  most  beseeching  eyes,  to  give 
her  the  letter  she  was  expecting.  It  must  be  there, 
she  said.  But  perhaps  they  had  not  been  able  to 
read  the  address ;  perhaps  it  had  been  put  into  the 
wrong  box  ?  And  her  soft,  imploring  eyes  so  touched 
the  postmaster  that  she  was  allowed  to  look  through 
piles  of  old,  unclaimed  letters,  and  to  turn  all  the 
drawers  in  the  post-office  upside  down.  But  it  was 
all  in  vain. 

She  wrote  new  letters  to  Gaetano;  but  no  answer 
came. 

Then  she  tried  to  believe  what  seemed  impossible. 
She  tried  to  make  her  soul  realize  that  Gaetano  had 
ceased  to  love  her. 

As  her  conviction  increased,  she  began  to  shut 
herself  into  her  room.  She  was  afraid  of  people, 
and  preferred  to  sit  alone. 


1 66          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Day  by  day  she  became  more  feeble.  She  walked 
deeply  bent,  and  even  her  beautiful  eyes  seemed  to 
lose  their  life  and  light. 

After  a  few  weeks  she  was  so  weak  that  she  could 
no  longer  keep  up,  but  lay  all  day  on  her  sofa. 
She  was  prey  to  a  suffering  that  gradually  deprived 
her  of  all  vital  power.  She  knew  that  she  was  fail- 
ing, and  she  was  afraid  to  die.  But  she  could  do 
nothing.  There  was  only  one  remedy  for  her,  but 
that  never  came.  While  Donna  Micaela  seemed  to 
be  thus  quietly  gliding  out  of  life,  the  people  of 
Diamante  were  preparing  to  celebrate  the  feast  of 
San  Sebastiano,  that  comes  at  the  end  of  January. 

It  was  the  greatest  festival  of  Diamante,  but  in 
the  last  few  years  it  had  not  been  kept  with  cus- 
tomary splendor,  because  want  and  gloom  had  weighed 
too  heavily  on  their  souls. 

But  this  year,  just  after  the  revolt  had  failed,  and 
while  Sicily  was  still  filled  with  troops,  and  while 
the  beloved  heroes  of  the  people  languished  in 
prison,  they  determined  to  celebrate  the  festival 
with  all  the  old-time  pomp;  for  now,  they  said,  was 
not  the  time  to  neglect  the  saint. 

And  the  pious  people  of  Diamante  determined 
that  the  festival  should  be  held  for  a  week,  and  that 
San  Sebastiano  should  be  honored  with  flags  and 
decorations,  and  with  races  and  biblical  processions, 
illuminations,  and  singing  contests. 

The  people  bestirred  themselves  with  great  haste 
and  eagerness.  There  was  polishing  and  scrubbing 
in  every  house.  They  brought  out  the  old  costumes, 
and  they  prepared  to  receive  strangers  from  all 
Etna. 

The  summer-palace  was   the  only  house  in  Dia- 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        1 67 

mante  where  no  preparations  were  made.  Donna 
Elisa  was  deeply  grieved  at  it,  but  she  could  not 
induce  Donna  Micaela  to  have  her  house  decorated. 
"How  can  you  ask  me  to  trim  a  house  of  mourning 
with  flowers  and  leaves?"  she  said.  "The  roses 
would  shed  their  petals  if  I  tried  to  use  them  to 
mask  the  misery  that  reigns  here." 

But  Donna  Elisa  was  very  eager  for  the  festival, 
and  expected  much  good  to  result  from  honoring  the 
saint  as  in  the  old  days.  She  could  talk  of  nothing 
but  of  how  the  priests  had  decorated  the  facade  of 
the  Cathedral  in  the  old  Sicilian  way,  with  silver 
flowers  and  mirrors.  And  she  described  the  proces- 
sion :  how  many  riders  there  were  to  be,  and  what 
high  plumes  they  were  to  have  in  their  hats,  and 
what  long,  garlanded  staves,  with  wax  candles  at 
the  end,  they  were  to  carry  in  their  hands. 

When  the  first  festival  day  came,  Donna  Elisa's 
house  was  the  most  gorgeously  decorated.  The 
green,  red,  and  white  standard  of  Italy  waved  from 
the  roof,  and  red  cloths,  fringed  with  gold,  bearing 
the  saint's  initials,  were  spread  over  the  window- 
sills  and  balcony  railings.  Up  and  down  the  wall 
ran  garlands  of  holly,  shaped  into  stars  and  arches, 
and  round  the  windows  crept  wreaths  made  of  the 
little  pink  roses  from  Donna  Elisa's  garden.  Just 
over  the  entrance  stood  the  saint's  image,  framed 
in  lilies,  and  on  the  threshold  lay  cypress-branches. 
And  if  one  had  entered  the  house,  one  would  have 
found  it  as  much  adorned  on  the  inside  as  on  the 
outside.  From  the  cellar  to  the  attic  it  was  scoured 
and  covered  with  flowers,  and  on  the  shelves  in 
the  shop  no  saint  was  too  small  or  insignificant  to 
have  an  everlasting  or  a  harebell  in  his  hand.  Like 


1 68  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Donna  Elisa,  every  one  in  penniless  Diamante  had 
decorated  along  the  whole  street.  In  the  street 
above  the  house  of  the  little  Moor  there  was  such  an 
array  of  flags  that  it  looked  like  clothes  hung  out  to 
dry  from  the  earth  to  the  sky.  Every  house  and 
every  arch  carried  flags,  and  across  the  streets  were 
hung  ropes,  from  which  fluttered  pennant  after 
pennant. 

At  every  tenth  step  the  people  of  Diamante  had 
raised  triumphal  arches  over  the  street.  And  over 
every  door  stood  the  image  of  the  saint,  framed  in 
wreaths  of  yellow  everlastings.  The  balconies  were 
covered  with  red  quilts  and  bright-colored  table- 
cloths, and  stiff  garlands  wound  up  the  walls. 

There  were  so  many  flowers  and  leaves  that  no 
one  could  understand  how  they  had  been  able  to  get 
them  all  in  January.  Everything  was  crowned  and 
wreathed  with  flowers.  The  brooms  had  crowns  of 
crocuses,  and  each  door-knocker  a  bunch  of  hyacinths. 
In  windows  stood  pictures  with  monograms,  and 
inscriptions  of  blood-red  anemones. 

And  between  those  decorated  houses  the  stream  oi 
people  rolled  as  mighty  as  a  rising  river.  It  was 
not  the  inhabitants  of  Diamante  alone  who  were 
honoring  San  Sebastiano.  From  all  Etna  came 
yellow  carts,  beautifully  ornamented  and  painted, 
drawn  by  horses  in  shining  harness,  and  loaded 
down  with  people.  The  sick,  the  beggars,  the  blind 
singers  came  in  great  crowds.  There  were  whole 
trains  of  pilgrims,  unhappy  people,  who  now,  after 
their  misfortunes,  had  some  one  to  pray  to. 

Such  numbers  came  that  the  people  wondered  how 
they  all  would  ever  find  room  within  the  town  walls. 
There  were  people  in  the  streets,  people  in  the 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        169 

windows,  people  on  the  balconies.  On  the  high 
stone  steps  sat  people,  and  the  shops  were  full  of 
them.  The  big  street-doors  were  thrown  wide,  and 
in  the  openings  chairs  were  arranged  in  a  half-circle, 
as  in  a  theatre.  There  the  house-owners  sat  with 
their  guests  and  looked  at  the  passers-by. 

The  whole  street  was  filled  with  an  intoxicating 
noise.  It  was  not  only  the  talking  and  laughter  of 
the  people.  There  were  also  organ-grinders  stand- 
ing and  turning  hand-organs  big  as  pianos.  There 
were  street-singers,  and  there  were  men  and  women 
who  declaimed  Tasso  in  cracked,  worn-out  voices. 
There  were  all  kinds  of  criers,  the  sound  of  organs 
streamed  from  all  the  churches,  and  in  the  square  on 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  the  town  band  played  so 
that  it  could  be  heard  over  all  Diamante. 

The  joyous  noise,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers, 
and  the  flapping  of  the  flags  outside  Donna  Micaela's 
window  had  power  to  wake  her  from  her  stupor. 
She  rose  up,  as  if  life  had  sent  for  her.  "  I  will  not 
die,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  will  try  to  live." 

She  took  her  father's  arm  and  went  out  into  the 
street.  She  hoped  that  the  life  there  would  mount 
to  her  head  so  that  she  might  forget  her  sorrow. 
"If  I  do  not  succeed,"  she  thought,  "if  I  can  find 
no  distraction,  I  must  die." 

Now  in  Diamante  there  was  a  poor  old  stone- 
cutter, who  had  thought  of  earning  a  few  soldi  dur- 
ing the  festival.  He  had  made  a  couple  of  small 
busts  out  of  lava,  of  San  Sebastiano  and  of  Pope  Leo 
XIII.  And  as  he  knew  that  many  in  Diamante 
loved  Gaetano,  and  grieved  over  his  fate,  he  also 
made  a  few  portraits  of  him. 

Just  as  Donna  Micaela  came  out  into  the  street 


1 70          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

she  met  the  man,  and  he  offered  her  his  wretched 
little  images. 

"Buy  Don  Gaetano  Alagona,  Donna  Micaela," 
said  the  man;  "buy  Don  Gaetano,  whom  the  gov- 
ernment has  put  in  prison  because  he  wished  to 
help  Sicily." 

Donna  Micaela  pressed  her  father's  arm  hard  and 
went  hurriedly  on. 

In  the  Cafe"  Europa  the  son  of  the  innkeeper 
stood  and  sang  canzoni.  He  had  composed  a  few 
new  ones  for  the  festival,  and  among  others  some 
about  Gaetano.  For  he  could  not  know  that  people 
did  not  care  to  hear  of  him. 

When  Donna  Micaela  passed  by  the  cafe"  and 
heard  the  singing,  she  stopped  and  listened. 

"  Alas,  Gaetano  Alagona ! "  sang  the  young  man. 
"Songs  are  mighty.  I  shall  sing  you  free  with 
my  songs.  First  I  will  send  you  the  slender  canzone. 
He  shall  glide  in  between  your  prison-gratings,  and 
break  them.  Then  I  will  send  you  the  sonnet,  that 
is  fair  as  a  woman,  and  which  will  corrupt  your 
guards.  I  will  compose  a  glorious  ode  to  you,  which 
will  shake  the  walls  of  your  prison  with  its  lofty 
rhythms.  But  if  none  of  these  help  you,  I  will  burst 
out  in  the  glorious  epos,  that  has  hosts  of  words. 
Oh,  Gaetano,  mighty  as  an  army  it  marches  on! 
All  the  legions  of  ancient  Rome  would  not  have 
had  the  strength  to  stop  it ! " 

Donna  Micaela  hung  convulsively  on  her  father's 
arm,  but  she  did  not  speak,  and  went  on. 

Then  Cavaliere  Palmeri  began  to  speak  of  Gaetano. 
"I  did  not  know  that  he  was  so  beloved,"  he  said. 

"Nor  I,"  murmured  Donna  Micaela. 

"To-day  I  saw  some  strangers  coming  into  Donna 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        \1\ 

Elisa's  shop,  and  begging  her  to  be  allowed  to  buy 
something  that  he  had  carved.  She  had  left  only  a 
couple  of  old  rosaries,  and  I  saw  her  break  them  to 
pieces  and  give  them  out  bead  by  bead." 

Donna  Micaela  looked  at  her  father  like  a  beseech- 
ing child.  But  he  did  not  know  whether  she  wished 
him  to  be  silent  or  to  go  on  speaking. 

"  Donna  Elisa's  old  friends  go  about  in  the  garden 
with  Luca,"hesaid,  "and  Luca  shows  them  Gaetano's 
favorite  places  and  the  garden  beds  that  he  used  to 
plant.  And  Pacifica  sits  in  the  workshop  beside 
the  joiner's-bench,  and  relates  all  sorts  of  things 
about  him,  ever  since  he  was  —  so  big." 

He  could  tell  no  more;  the  crush  and  the  noise 
became  so  great  about  him  that  he  had  to  stop. 

They  meant  to  go  to  the  Cathedral.  On  the 
Cathedral  steps  sat  old  Assunta,  as  usual.  She  held 
a  rosary  in  her  hands  and  mumbled  the  same  prayer 
round  the  whole  rosary.  She  asked  the  saint  that 
Gaetano,  who  had  promised  to  help  all  the  poor, 
might  come  back  to  Diamante. 

As  Donna  Micaela  walked  by  her,  she  distinctly 
heard :  "  San  Sebastiano,  give  us  Gaetano !  Ah,  in 
your  mercy;  ah,  in  our  misery,  San  Sebastiano, 
give  us  Gaetano ! " 

Donna  Micaela  had  meant  to  go  into  the  church, 
but  she  turned  on  the  steps. 

"There  is  such  a  crowd  there,"  she  said,  "I  do 
not  dare  to  go  in." 

She  went  home  again.  But  while  she  had  been 
away,  Donna  Elisa  had  watched  her  opportunity. 
She  had  hoisted  a  flag  on  the  roof  of  the  summer- 
palace;  she  had  spread  draperies  on  the  balconies, 
and  as  Donna  Micaela  came  home,  she  was  fastening 


1 72          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRISJ 

up  a  garland  in  the  gate-way.  For  Donna  Elisa 
could  not  bear  to  have  the  summer-palace  undeco- 
rated.  She  wished  no  honor  to  San  Sebastiano 
omitted  at  this  time.  And  she  feared  that  the  saint 
would  not  help  Diamante  and  Gaetano  if  the  palace 
of  the  old  Alagonas  did  not  honor  him. 

Donna  Micaela  was  pale  as  if  she  had  received  her 
death  warrant,  and  bent  like  an  old  woman  of  eighty 
years. 

Sh'e  murmured  to  herself:  "I  make  no  busts  of 
him;  I  sing  no  songs  about  him;  I  dare  not  pray  to 
God  for  him ;  I  buy  none  of  his  beads.  How  can  he 
believe  that  I  love  him?  He  must  love  all  these 
others,  who  worship  him,  but  not  me.  I  do  not 
belong  to  his  world,  he  can  love  me  no  longer." 

And  when  she  saw  that  they  wished  to  adorn  her 
house  with  flowers,  it  seemed  to  her  so  piteously 
cruel  that  she  snatched  the  wreath  from  Donna  Elisa 
and  threw  it  at  her  feet,  asking  if  she  wished  to  kill 
her. 

Then  she  went  past  her  up  the  stairs  to  her  room. 
She  threw  herself  on  the  sofa  and  buried  her  face  in 
the  cushions. 

She  now  first  understood  how  far  apart  she  and 
Gaetano  were.  The  idol  of  the  people  could  not 
love  her. 

She  felt  as  if  she  had  prevented  him  from  helping 
all  those  poor  people. 

How  he  must  detest  her;  how  he  must  hate  her! 

Then  her  illness  came  creeping  back  over  her. 
That  illness  which  consisted  of  not  being  loved ! 
It  would  kill  her.  She  thought,  as  she  lay  there, 
that  it  was  all  over. 

While  she  lay  there,  suddenly  the  little  Christ- 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        r/3 

child  stood  before  her  inward  eye.  He  seemed  to 
have  entered  the  room  in  all  his  wretched  splendor. 
She  saw  him  plainly. 

Donna  Micaela  began  to  call  on  the  Christchild 
for  help.  And  she  was  amazed  at  herself  for  not 
having  turned  before  to  that  good  helper.  It  was 
probably  because  the  image  did  not  stand  in  a 
church,  but  was  carried  about  as  a  museum-piece  by 
Miss  Tottenham,  that  she  remembered  him  only  in 
her  deepest  need. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day.  After 
dinner  Donna  Micaela  had  given  all  her  servants 
permission  to  go  to  the  festival,  so  that  she  and  her 
father  were  alone  in  the  big  house.  But  towards  ten 
o'clock  her  father  rose  and  said  he  wished  to  hear 
the  singing-contest  in  the  square.  And  as  Donna 
Micaela  did  not  dare  to  sit  alone,  she  was  obliged 
to  go  with  him. 

When  they  came  to  the  square  they  saw  that  it 
was  turned  into  a  theatre,  with  lines  upon  lines  of 
chairs.  Every  corner  was  filled  with  people,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  they  found  places. 

"Diamante  is  glorious  this  evening,  Micaela," 
said  Cavaliere  Palmeri.  The  charm  of  the  night 
seemed  to  have  softened  him.  He  spoke  more 
simply  and  tenderly  to  his  daughter  than  he  had 
done  for  a  long  time. 

Donna  Micaela  felt  instantly  that  he  spoke  the 
truth.  She  felt  as  she  had  done  when  she  first 
came  to  Diamante.  It  was  a  town  of  miracles,  a 
town  of  beauty,  a  little  sanctuary  of  God. 

Directly  in  front  of  her  stood  a  high  and  stately 
building  made  of  shining  diamonds.  She  had  to 


1/4          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

think  for  a  moment  before  she  could  understand  what 
it  was. 

Yet  it  was  nothing  but  the  front  of  the  Cathedral, 
covered  with  flowers  of  stiff  silver  and  gold  paper 
and  with  thousands  of  little  mirrors  stuck  in  between 
the  flowers.  And  in  every  flower  was  hung  a  little 
lamp  with  a  flame  as  big  as  a  fire-fly.  It  was  the 
most  enchanting  illumination  that  Donna  Micaela 
had  ever  seen. 

There  was  no  other  light  in  the  market-place,  nor 
was  any  needed.  That  great  wall  of  diamonds 
shone  quite  sufficiently.  The  black  Palazzo  Geraci 
was  flaming  red,  as  if  it  had  been  lighted  by  a 
conflagration. 

Nothing  of  the  world  outside  of  the  square  was 
visible.  Everything  below  it  was  in  the  deepest 
darkness,  and  that  made  her  think  again  that  she 
saw  the  old  enchanted  Diamante  that  was  not  of  the 
earth,  but  was  a  holy  city  on  one  of  the  mounts  of 
heaven.  The  town-hall  with  its  heavy  balconies 
and  high  steps,  the  long  convent  and  the  Roman 
gate  were  again  glorious  and  wonderful.  And  she 
could  hardly  believe  it  was  in  that  town  that  she 
had  suffered  such  terrible  pain. 

In  the  midst  of  the  great  crowd  of  people,  no 
chill  was  felt.  The  winter  night  was  mild  as  a 
spring  morning;  and  Donna  Micaela  began  to  feel 
something  of  spring  in  her.  It  began  to  stir  and 
tremble  in  her  in  a  way  which  was  both  sweet  and 
terrible.  It  must  feel  so  in  the  snow-masses  on 
Etna  when  the  sun  melts  them  into  sparkling 
brooks. 

She  looked  at  the  people  who  filled  the  market- 
place, and  was  amazed  at  herself  that  she  had  been 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        1/5 

so  tortured  by  them  in  the  forenoon.  She  was  glad 
that  they  loved  Gaetano.  Alas,  if  he  had  only  con- 
tinued to  love  her,  she  would  have  been  unspeakably 
proud  and  happy  in  their  love.  Then  she  could 
have  kissed  those  old  callous  hands  that  made  images 
of  him  and  were  clasped  in  prayers  for  him. 

As  she  was  thinking  this,  the  church-door  was 
thrown  open  and  a  big,  fiat  wagon  rolled  out  of  the 
church.  Highest  on  the  red-covered  wagon  stood 
San  Sebastiano  by  his  stake,  and  below  the  image 
sat  the  four  singers,  who  were  to  contest. 

There  was  an  old  blind  man  from  Nicolosi;  a 
cooper  from  Catania,  who  was  considered  to  be  the 
best  improvisatore  in  all  Sicily;  a  smith  from 
Termini,  and  little  Gandolfo,  who  was  son  to  the 
watchman  in  the  town-hall  of  Diamante. 

Everybody  was  surprised  that  Gandolfo  dared  to 
appear  in  such  a  difficult  contest.  Did  he  do  it 
perhaps  to  please  his  betrothed,  little  Rosalia?  No 
one  had  ever  heard  that  he  could  improvise.  He 
had  never  done  anything  in  his  whole  life  but  eat 
mandarins  and  stare  at  Etna. 

The  first  thing  was  to  draw  lots  among  the  compet- 
itors, and  the  lots  fell  so  that  the  cooper  should 
come  first  and  Gandolfo  last.  When  it  fell  so 
Gandolfo  turned  pale.  It  was  terrible  to  come  last, 
when  they  all  were  to  speak  on  the  same  subject. 

The  cooper  elected  to  speak  of  San  Sebastiano, 
when  he  was  a  soldier  of  the  legion  in  ancient 
Rome,  and  for  his  faith's  sake  was  bound  to  a  stake 
and  used  as  a  target  for  his  comrades.  After  him 
came  the  blind  man,  who  told  how  a  pious  Roman 
matron  found  the  martyr  bleeding  and  pierced  with 
arrows,  and  succeeded  in  bringing  him  back  to  life. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Then  came  the  smith,  who  related  all  the  miracles 
San  Sebastiano  had  worked  in  Sicily  during  the 
pest  in  the  fifteenth  century.  They  were  all  much 
applauded.  They  spoke  many  strong  words  of  blood 
and  death,  and  the  people  rejoiced  in  them.  But 
every  one  from  Diamante  was  anxious  for  little 
Gandolfo. 

"The  smith  takes  all  the  words  from  him.  He 
must  fail,"  they  said. 

"Ah,"  said  others,  "little  Rosalia  will  not  take 
the  engagement  ribbon  out  of  her  hair  for  that." 

Gandolfo  shrunk  together  in  his  corner  of  the 
wagon.  He  grew  smaller  and  smaller.  Those  sit- 
ting near  could  hear  how  his  teeth  chattered  with 
fright. 

When  his  turn  came  at  last,  and  he  rose  and  began 
to  improvise,  he  was  very  bad.  He  was  worse  than 
any  one  had  expected.  He  faltered  out  a  couple  of 
verses,  but  they  were  only  a  repetition  of  what  the 
others  had  said. 

Then  he  suddenly  stopped  and  gasped  for  breath. 
In  that  moment  the  strength  of  despair  came  to 
him.  He  straightened  himself  up,  and  a  slight 
flush  rose  to  his  cheeks. 

"Oh,  signori,"  said  little  Gandolfo,  "let  me  speak 
of  that  of  which  I  am  always  thinking!  Let  me 
speak  of  what  I  always  see  before  me ! " 

And  he  began  unopposed  and  with  wonderful 
power  to  tell  what  he  himself  had  seen. 

He  told  how  he  who  was  son  to  the  watchman  of 
the  town-hall  had  crept  through  dark  attics  and  had 
lain  hidden  in  one  of  the  galleries  of  the  court-room 
the  night  the  court-martial  had  been  held  to  pass 
sentence  on  the  insurgents  in  Diamante. 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        \7J 

Then  he  had  seen  Don  Gaetano  Alagona  on  the 
bench  of  the  accused  with  a  lot  of  wild  fellows  who 
were  worse  than  brutes. 

He  told  how  beautiful  Gaetano  had  been.  He 
had  seemed  like  a  god  to  little  Gandolfo  beside 
those  terrible  people  about  him.  And  he  described 
those  bandits  with  their  wild-beast  faces,  their 
coarse  hair,  their  clumsy  limbs.  He  said  that  no 
one  could  look  into  their  e)es  without  a  quiver  of 
the  heart. 

Yet,  in  all  his  beauty,  Don  Gaetano  was  more 
terrible  than  those  people.  Gandolfo  did  not  know 
how  they  dared  to  sit  beside  him  on  the  bench. 
Under  his  frowning  brows  his  eyes  flashed  at  his 
fellow-prisoners  with  a  look  which  would  have  killed 
their  souls,  if  they  like  others  had  possessed  such  a 
thing. 

" '  Who  are  you, '  he  seemed  to  ask,  '  who  dare 
to  turn  to  plundering  and  murder  while  you  call  on 
sacred  liberty?  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done? 
Do  you  know  that  on  account  of  your  devices  I  am 
now  a  prisoner?  And  it  was  I  who  would  have 
saved  Sicily ! '  "  And  every  glance  he  cast  at  them 
was  a  death  warrant. 

His  eyes  fell  on  all  the  things  that  the  bandits 
had  stolen  and  that  were  now  piled  up  on  a  table. 
He  recognized  them.  Could  he  help  knowing  the 
clocks  and  the  silver  dishes  from  the  summer- 
palace?  could  he  help  knowing  the  relics  and  coins 
that  had  been  stolen  from  his  English  patroness? 
And  when  he  had  recognized  the  things,  he  turned 
to  his  fellow-prisoners  with  a  terrible  smile.  "  '  You 
heroes!  you  heroes!'  said  the  smile;  'you  have 
stolen  from  two  women !  ' 

12 


1 78  THE  MIRACLES   OF  ANTICHRIST 

His  noble  face  was  constantly  changing.  Once 
Gandolfo  had  seen  it  contracted  by  a  sudden  terror. 
It  was  when  the  man  sitting  nearest  to  him  stretched 
out  a  hand  covered  with  blood.  Had  he  perhaps  had 
a  sudden  idea  of  the  truth  ?  Did  he  think  that  those 
men  had  broken  into  the  house  where  his  beloved 
lived? 

Gandolfo  told  how  the  officers  who  were  to  be  the 
judges  had  come  in,  silent  and  grave,  and  sat  down 
in  their  places.  But  he  said  when  he  had  seen 
those  noble  gentlemen  his  anxiety  had  diminished, 
He  had  said  to  himself  that  they  knew  that  Gaetano 
was  of  good  birth,  and  that  they  would  not  sentence 
him.  They  would  not  mix  him  up  with  the  bandits. 
No  one  could  possibly  believe  that  he  had  wished  to 
rob  two  women. 

And  see,  when  the  judge  called  up  Gaetano 
Alagona  his  voice  was  without  hardness.  He  spoke 
to  him  as  to  an  equal. 

"But,"  said  Gandolfo,  "when  Don  Gaetano  rose, 
he  stood  so  that  he  could  see  out  over  the  square. 
And  through  the  square,  through  this  same  square, 
where  now  so  many  people  are  sitting  in  happiness 
and  pleasure,  a  funeral  procession  was  passing. 

"  It  was  the  White  Brotherhood  carrying  the  body 
of  the  murdered  Giannita  to  her  mother's  house. 
They  walked  with  torches,  and  the  bier,  carried  on 
the  bearers'  shoulders,  was  plainly  visible.  As  the 
procession  passed  slowly  across  the  market-place, 
one  could  recognize  the  pall  spread  over  the  corpse. 
It  was  the  pall  of  the  Alagonas  adorned  with 
a  gorgeous  coat  of  arms  and  rich  silver  fringes. 
When  Gaetano  saw  it,  he  understood  that  the  corpse 
was  of  the  house  of  Alagona.  His  face  became 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO 

ashy  gray,  and  he  reeled  as  if  he  were  going  to 
fall. 

"  At  that  moment  the  judge  asked  him  :  '  Do  you 
know  the  murdered  woman  ? '  And  he  answered : 
'  Yes. '  Then  the  judge,  who  was  a  merciful  man, 
continued  :  *  Was  she  near  to  you  ? '  And  then  Don 
Gaetano  answered :  '  I  love  her. ' ' 

When  Gandolfo  had  come  so  far  in  his  story, 
people  saw  Donna  Micaela  suddenly  rise,  as  if  she 
had  wished  to  contradict  him,  but  Cavaliere  Palmeri 
drew  her  quickly  down  beside  him. 

"Be  quiet,  be  quiet,"  he  said  to  her. 

And  she  sat  quiet  with  her  face  hidden  in  her 
hands.  Now  and  then  her  body  rocked  and  she 
wailed  softly. 

Gandolfo  told  how  the  judge,  when  Gaetano  had 
acknowledged  that,  had  shown  him  his  fellow- 
prisoners  and  asked  him  :  "'If  you  loved  that  woman, 
how  can  you  have  anything  in  common  with  the 
men  who  have  murdered  her?'1 

Then  Don  Gaetano  had  turned  towards  the  bandits. 
He  had  raised  his  clenched  hand  and  shaken  it  at 
them.  And  he  had  looked  as  if  he  had  longed  for  a 
dagger,  to  be  able  to  strike  them  down  one  after 
another. 

" '  With  those  ! '  "  he  had  shouted.  " '  Should  I 
have  anything  in  common  with  those? ' 

And  he  had  certainly  meant  to  say  that  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  robbers  and  murderers.  The 
judge  had  smiled  kindly  at  him,  as  if  he  had  only 
waited  for  that  answer  to  set  him  free. 

But  then  a  divine  miracle  had  happened. 

And  Gandolfo  told,  how  among  all  the  stolen 
things  that  lay  on  the  table,  there  had  also  been  a 


180          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

little  Christ  image.  It  was  a  yard  high,  richly 
covered  with  jewels  and  adorned  with  a  gold  crown 
and  gold  shoes.  Just  at  that  moment  one  of  the 
officers  bent  down  to  draw  the  image  to  him  ;  and  as 
he  did  so,  the  crown  fell  to  the  floor  and  rolled  all 
the  way  to  Don  Gaetano. 

Don  Gaetano  picked  up  the  Christ-crown,  held  it 
a  moment  in  his  hands  and  looked  at  it  carefully. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  had  read  something  in  it. 

He  did  not  hold  it  more  than  one  minute.  In  the 
next  the  guard  took  it  from  him. 

Donna  Micaela  looked  up  almost  frightened.  The 
Christ  image!  He  was  there  already!  Should  she 
so  soon  get  an  answer  to  her  prayer  ? 

Gandolfo  continued:  "But  when  Don  Gaetano 
looked  up,  every  one  trembled  as  at  a  miracle,  for 
the  man  was  transformed. 

"  Ah,  signori,  he  was  so  white  that  his  face  seemed 
to  shine,  and  his  eyes  were  calm  and  tender.  And 
there  was  no  more  anger  in  him. 

"And  he  began  to  pray  for  his  fellow-prisoners; 
he  began  to  pray  for  their  lives. 

"  He  prayed  that  they  should  not  kill  those  poor 
fellow-creatures.  He  prayed  that  the  noble  judges 
should  do  something  for  them  that  they  might  some 
day  live  like  others.  'We  have  only  this  life  to  live,' 
he  said.  '  Our  kingdom  is  only  of  this  world. ' 

"  He  began  to  tell  how  those  men  had  lived.  He 
spoke  as  if  he  could  read  their  souls.  He  pictured 
their  life,  gioomy  and  unhappy  as  it  had  been.  He 
spoke  so  that  several  of  the  judges  wept. 

"  The  words  came  strong  and  commanding,  so  that 
it  sounded  as  if  Don  Gaetano  had  been  judge  and 
the  judges  the  criminals.  'See,'  he  said,  'whose 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        l8l 

fault  is  it  that  these  poor  men  have  gone  to  destruc- 
tion ?  Is  it  not  you  who  have  the  power  who  ought 
to  have  taken  care  of  them  ? ' 

"And  they  were  all  dismayed  at  the  responsibility 
he  forced  upon  them. 

"  But  suddenly  the  judge  had  interrupted  him. 

" '  Speak  in  your  own  defence,  Gaetano  Alagona, ' 
he  said ;  '  do  not  speak  in  that  of  others ! ' 

"Then  Don  Gaetano  had  smiled.  'Signer,'  he 
said,  '  I  have  not  much  more  than  you  with  which 
to  defend  myself.  But  still  I  have  something.  I 
have  left  my  career  in  England  to  make  a  revolt  in 
Sicily.  I  have  brought  over  weapons.  I  have  made 
seditious  speeches.  I  have  something,  although  not 
much.' 

"  The  judge  had  almost  begged  him.  '  Do  not 
speak  so,  Don  Gaetano, '  he  had  said.  '  Think  of 
what  you  are  saying ! ' 

"  But  he  had  made  confessions  that  compelled 
them  to  sentence  him. 

"When  they  told  him  that  he  was  to  sit  for 
twenty-nine  years  in  prison,  he  had  cried  out : 
'  Now  may  her  will  be  done,  who  was  just  carried 
by.  May  I  be  as  she  wished ! ' 

"And  I  saw  no  more  of  him,"  said  little  Gandolfo, 
"for  the  guards  placed  him  between  them  and  led 
him  away. 

"  But  I,  who  heard  him  pray  for  those  who  had 
murdered  his  beloved,  made  a  vow  that  I  would  do 
something  for  him. 

"  I  vowed  to  recite  a  beautiful  improvisation  to 
San  Sebastiano  to  induce  him  to  help  him.  But  I 
have  not  succeeded.  I  am  no  improvisatore ;  I  could 
not  " 


1 82          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Here  he  broke  off  and  threw  himself  down,  weep- 
ing aloud  before  the  image.  "  Forgive  me  that  I 
could  not,"  he  cried,  "and  help  him  in  spite  of  it. 
You  know  that  when  they  sentenced  him  I  promised 
to  do  it  for  his  sake  that  you  might  save  him.  But 
now  I  have  not  been  able  to  speak  of  you,  and  you 
will  not  help  him." 

Donna  Micaela  hardly  knew  how  it  happened,  but 
she  and  little  Rosalia,  who  loved  Gandolfo,  were 
beside  him  at  almost  the  same  moment.  They  drew 
him  to  them,  and  both  kissed  him,  and  said  that  no 
one  had  spoken  like  him;  no  one,  no  one.  Did  he 
not  see  that  they  were  weeping?  San  Sebastiano 
was  pleased  with  him.  Donna  Micaela  put  a  ring 
on  the  boy's  finger  and  round  about  him  the  people 
were  waving  many-colored  silk  handkerchiefs,  that 
glistened  like  waves  of  the  sea  in  the  strong  light 
from  the  Cathedral. 

"  Viva  Gaetano !  viva  Gandolfo ! "  cried  the  people. 

And  flowers  and  fruits  and  silk  handkerchiefs  and 
jewels  came  raining  down  about  little  Gandolfo. 
Donna  Micaela  was  crowded  away  from  him  almost 
with  violence.  But  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  be 
frightened.  She  stood  among  the  surging  people 
and  wept.  The  tears  streamed  down  her  face,  and 
she  wept  for  joy  that  she  could  weep.  That  was  the 
greatest  blessing. 

She  wished  to  force  her  way  to  Gandolfo;  she 
could  not  thank  him  enough.  He  had  told  her  that 
Gaetano  loved  her.  When  he  had  quoted  the  words, 
"  Now  may  her  will  be  done  who  was  just  carried 
by,"  she  had  suddenly  understood  that  Gaetano  had 
believed  that  it  was  she  lying  under  the  pall  of  the 
Alagonas. 


THE  FEAST  OF  SAN  SEBASTIANO        183 

And  of  that  dead  woman  he  had  said :  "  I  love 
her." 

The  blood  flowed  once  more  in  her  veins;  her 
heart  beat  again;  her  tears  fell.  "It  is  life,  life," 
she  said  to  herself,  while  she  let  herself  be  carried 
to  and  fro  by  the  crowd.  "  Life  has  come  again  to 
me.  I  shall  not  die." 

They  all  had  to  come  up  to  little  Gandolfo  to 
thank  him,  because  he  had  given  them  some  one 
to  love,  to  trust  in,  to  long  for  in  those  days  of 
dejection,  when  everything  seemed  lost. 


SECOND    BOOK 

"  Antichrist  shall  go  from  land  to  land  and 
give  bread  to  the  poor  " 


A   GREAT  MAN'S  WIFE 

IT  was  in  February,  and  the  almond-trees  were 
beginning  to  blossom  on  the  black  lava  about 
Diamante. 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  had  taken  a  walk  up  Etna  and 
had  brought  home  a  big  almond  branch,  full  of  buds 
and  flowers  and  put  it  in  a  vase  in  the  music-room. 

Donna  Micaela  started  when  she  saw  it.  So  they 
had  already  come,  the  almond-blossoms.  And  for  a 
whole  month,  for  six  long  weeks,  they  would  be 
everywhere. 

They  would  stand  on  the  altar  in  the  church; 
they  would  lie  on  the  graves,  and  they  would  be 
worn  on  the  breast,  on  the  hat,  in  the  hair.  They 
would  blossom  over  the  roads,  in  the  heaps  of  ruins, 
on  the  black  lava.  And  every  almond-flower  would 
remind  her  of  the  day  when  the  bells  rang,  when 
Gaetano  was  free  and  happy,  and  when  she  dreamed 
of  passing  her  whole  life  with  him. 


1 86          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  never  before  fully 
understood  what  it  meant  that  he  was  shut  in  and 
gone,  that  she  should  never  see  him  again. 

She  had  to  sit  down  in  order  not  to  fall ;  her  heart 
seemed  to  stop,  and  she  shut  her  eyes. 

While  she  was  sitting  thus  she  had  a  strange 
experience. 

She  is  all  at  once  at  home  in  the  palace  in  Catania. 
She  is  sitting  in  the  lofty  hall  reading,  and  she  is  a 
happy  young  girl,  Signorina  Palmeri.  A  servant 
brings  in  a  wandering  salesman  to  her.  He  is  a 
handsome  young  fellow  with  a  sprig  of  almond- 
blossoms  in  his  button-hole;  on  his  head  he  carries 
a  board  full  of  little  images  of  the  saints,  carved  in 
wood. 

She  buys  some  of  the  images,  while  the  young 
man's  eyes  drink  in  all  the  works  of  art  in  the  hall. 
She  asks  him  if  he  would  like  to  see  their  collec- 
tions. Yes,  that  he  would.  And  she  herself  goes 
with  him  and  shows  him. 

He  is  so  delighted  with  what  he  sees  that  she 
thinks  that  he  must  be  a  real  artist,  and  she  says  to 
herself  that  she  will  not  forget  him.  She  asks 
where  his  home  is.  He  answers:  "In  Diamante." 
—  "  Is  that  far  away  ?  "  —  "  Four  hours  in  the  post- 
carriage.  "  —  "  And  with  the  railway  ?  "  —  "  There  is 
no  railway  to  Diamante,  signorina. "  —  "You  must 
build  one. "  —  "  We !  we  are  too  poor.  Ask  the 
rich  men  in  Catania  to  build  us  a  railway!" 

When  he  has  said  that  he  starts  to  go,  but  he 
turns  at  the  door  and  comes  and  gives  her  his 
almond-blossoms.  It  is  in  gratitude  for  all  the 
beautiful  things  she  has  let  him  see. 

When   Donna   Micaela  opened   her  eyes  she  did 


A   GREAT  MAN'S   WIFE  187 

not  know  whether  she  had  been  dreaming  or  whether 
perhaps  once  some  such  thing  had  really  happened. 
Gaetano  could  really  have  been  some  time  in  the 
Palazzo  Palmeri  to  sell  his  images,  although  she  had 
forgotten  it;  but  now  the  almond-blossoms  had 
recalled  it. 

But  it  was  no  matter,  no  matter.  The  important 
thing  was  that  the  young  wood-carver  was  Gaetano. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  talking  to  him.  She 
thought  she  heard  the  door  close  behind  him. 

And  it  was  after  that  that  it  occurred  to  her  to 
build  a  railway  between  Catania  and  Diamante. 

Gaetano  had  surely  come  to  her  to  ask  her  to  do 
it.  It  was  a  command  from  him,  and  she  felt  that 
she  must  obey. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  struggle  against  it.  She 
was  certain  that  Diamante  needed  a  railway  more 
than  anything  else.  She  had  once  heard  Gaetano 
say  that  if  Diamante  only  possessed  a  railway,  so 
that  it  could  easily  send  away  its  oranges  and  its 
wine  and  its  honey  and  its  almonds,  and  so  that 
travellers  could  come  there  conveniently,  it  would 
soon  be  a  rich  town. 

She  was  also  quite  certain  that  she  could  succeed 
with  the  railway.  She  must  try  at  all  events.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  not  to.  When  Gaetano  wished 
it,  she  must  obey. 

She  began  to  think  how  much  money  she  herself 
could  give.  It  would  not  go  very  far.  She  must 
get  more  money.  That  was  the  first  thing  she  had 
to  do. 

Within  the  hour  she  was  at  Donna  Elisa's,  and 
begged  her  to  help  her  arrange  a  bazaar.  Donna 
Elisa  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  embroidery.  "  Why 


1 88          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

do  you  want  to  arrange  a  bazaar?"  —  "I  mean  to 
collect  money  for  a  railway."  —  "That  is  like  you, 
Donna  Micaela;  no  one  else  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing. "  — "  What,  Donna  Elisa?  What  do 
you  mean  ? "  —  "  Oh,  nothing. " 

And  Donna  Elisa  went  on  embroidering. 

"You  will  not  help  me,  then,  with  my  bazaar?" 
—  "No,  I  will  not."  —  "  And  you  will  not  give  a 
little  contribution  towards  it?"  —  "One  who  has 
so  lately  lost  her  husband,"  answered  Donna  Elisa, 
"ought  not  to  trifle." 

Donna  Micaela  saw  that  Donna  Elisa  was  angry 
with  her  for  some  reason  or  other,  and  that  she 
therefore  would  not  help  her.  But  there  must  be 
others  who  would  understand ;  and  it  was  a  beauti- 
ful plan,  which  would  save  Diamante. 

But  Donna  Micaela  wandered  in  vain  from  door 
to  door.  However  much  she  talked  and  begged,  she 
gained  no  partisans. 

She  tried  to  explain,  she  used  all  her  eloquence 
to  persuade.  No  one  was  interested  in  her  plans. 

Wherever  she  came,  people  answered  her  that  they 
were  too  poor,  too  poor. 

The  syndic's  wife  answered  no.  Her  daughters 
were  not  allowed  to  sell  at  the  bazaar.  Don  Antonio 
Greco,  who  had  the  marionette  theatre,  would  not 
come  with  his  dolls.  The  town-band  would  not 
play.  None  of  the  shop-keepers  would  give  any  of 
their  wares.  When  Donna  Micaela  was  gone  they 
laughed  at  her. 

A  railroad,  a  railroad !  She  did  not  know  what 
she  was  thinking  of.  There  would  have  to  be  a 
company,  shares,  statutes,  concessions.  How  should 
a  woman  manage  such  things  ? 


A    GREAT  MAN'S   WIFE  1 89 

While  some  were  content  to  laugh  at  Donna 
Micaela,  some  were  angry  with  her. 

She  went  to  the  cellar-like  shop  near  the  old 
Benedictine  monastery,  where  Master  Pamphilio 
related  romances  of  chivalry.  She  came  to  ask  him 
if  he  would  come  to  her  bazaar  and  entertain  the 
public  with  Charlemagne  and  his  paladins;  but  as 
he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  story,  she  had  to  sit  down 
on  a  bench  and  wait. 

Then  she  noticed  Donna  Concetta,  Master  Pam- 
philio's  wife,  who  was  sitting  on  the  platform  at 
his  feet  knitting  a  stocking.  As  long  as  Master 
Pamphilio  was  speaking,  Donna  Concetta's  lips 
moved.  She  had  heard  his  romances  so  many  times 
that  she  knew  them  by  heart,  and  said  the  words 
before  they  had  passed  Master  Pamphilio's  lips. 
But  it  was  always  the  same  pleasure  to  her  to  hear 
him,  and  she  wept,  and  she  laughed,  as  she  had 
done  when  she  heard  him  for  the  first  time. 

Master  Pamphilio  was  an  old  man,  who  had  spoken 
much  in  his  day,  so  that  his  voice  sometimes  failed 
him  in  the  big  battle-scenes,  when  he  had  to  speak 
loud  and  fast.  But  Donna  Concetta,  who  knew  it 
all  by  heart,  never  took  the  word  from  Master 
Pamphilio.  She  only  made  a  sign  to  the  audience 
to  wait  until  his  voice  came  back.  But  if  his 
memory  failed  him,  Donna  Concetta  pretended  that 
she  had  dropped  a  stitch,  raised  the  stocking  to  her 
eyes,  and  threw  him  the  word  behind  it,  so  that  no 
one  noticed  it.  And  every  one  knew  that  although 
Donna  Concetta  perhaps  could  have  told  the  romances 
better  than  Master  Pamphilio,  she  would  never  have 
been  willing  to  do  such  a  thing,  not  only  because 
it  was  not  fitting  for  a  woman,  but  also  because  it 


190          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

would  not  give  her  half  so  much  pleasure  as  to  listen 
to  dear  Master  Pamphilio. 

When  Donna  Micaela  saw  Donna  Concetta,  she 
fell  to  dreaming.  Oh,  to  sit  so  on  the  platform, 
where  her  beloved  was  speaking;  to  sit  so  day  in 
and  day  out  and  worship.  She  knew  whom  that 
would  have  suited. 

When  Master  Pamphilio  had  finished  speaking 
Donna  Micaela  went  forward  and  asked  him  to  help 
her.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  say  no,  on  account 
of  the  thousand  prayers  that  were  written  in  her 
eyes.  But  Donna  Concetta  came  to  his  rescue. 
"Master  Pamphilio,"  she  said,  "tell  Donna  Micaela 
of  Guglielmo  the  Wicked."  And  Master  Pamphilio 
began. 

"Donna  Micaela,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  that 
once  there  was  a  king  in  Sicily  whose  name  was 
Guglielmo  the  Wicked  ?  He  was  so  covetous  that  he 
took  all  his  subjects'  money.  He  commanded  that 
every  one  possessing  gold  coins  should  give  them  to 
him.  And  he  was  so  severe  and  so  cruel  that  they 
all  had  to  obey  him. 

"Well,  Donna  Micaela,  Guglielmo  the  Wicked 
wished  to  know  if  any  one  had  gold  hidden  in  his 
house.  Therefore  he  sent  one  of  his  servants  along 
the  Corso  in  Palermo  with  a  beautiful  horse.  And 
the  man  offered  the  horse  for  sale,  and  cried  loudly: 
'  Will  be  sold  for  a  piece  of  gold ;  will  be  sold  for 
a  piece  of  gold ! '  But  there  was  no  one  who  could 
buy  the  horse. 

"  Yet  it  was  a  very  beautiful  horse,  and  a  young 
nobleman,  the  Duke  of  Montcfiascone,  was  much 
taken  by  him.  '  There  is  no  joy  for  me  if  I  cannot 
buy  the  horse,'  said  he  to  his  steward.  'Signer 


A    GREAT  MAWS   WIFE  19! 

Duca, '  answered  his  steward,  '  I  can  tell  you  where 
you  can  find  a  piece  of  gold.  When  your  noble 
father  died  and  was  carried  away  by  the  Capucins, 
according  to  the  ancient  custom  I  put  a  piece  of 
gold  in  his  mouth.  You  can  take  that,  signer.' 

"  For  you  must  know,  Donna  Micaela,  that  in 
Palermo  they  do  not  bury  the  dead  in  the  ground. 
They  carry  them  to  the  monastery  of  the  Capucins, 
and  the  monks  hang  them  up  in  their  vaults.  Ah, 
there  are  so  many  hanging  in  those  vaults!  —  so 
many  ladies,  dressed  in  silk  and  cloth  of  silver;  so 
many  noble  gentlemen,  with  orders  on  their  breasts ; 
and  so  many  priests,  with  cloak  and  cap  over  skele- 
ton and  skull. 

"The  young  duke  followed  his  advice.  He  went 
to  the  Capucin  monastery,  took  the  piece  of  gold 
from  his  father's  mouth  and  bought  the  horse 
with  it. 

"  But  you  understand  that  the  king  had  only  sent 
his  servant  with  the  horse  in  order  to  find  out  if 
any  one  still  had  any  money.  And  now  the  duke 
was  taken  before  the  king.  '  How  does  it  happen 
that  you  still  have  gold  pieces?'  said  Guglielmo 
the  Wicked.  — '  Sire,  it  it  was  not  mine;  it  was  my 
father's.'  And  he  told  how  he  had  got  the  piece  of 
gold.  '  It  is  true, '  said  the  king.  '  I  had  forgotten 
that  the  dead  still  had  money.'  And  he  sent  his 
servants  to  the  Capucins  and  had  them  take  all  the 
gold  pieces  out  of  the  mouths  of  the  dead." 

Here  old  Master  Patnphilio  finished  his  story. 
And  now  Donna  Concetta  turned  to  Donna  Micaela 
with  wrathful  eyes.  "  It  is  you  who  are  out  with  the 
horse,"  she  said. 

"Am  I?  ami?" 


192  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"You,  you,  Donna  Micaela!  The  government 
will  say:  '  They  are  building  a  railway  in  Diamante. 
They  must  be  rich.'  And  they  will  increase  our 
taxes.  And  God  knows  that  we  cannot  pay  the  tax 
with  which  we  are  already  loaded  down,  even  if  we 
should  go  and  plunder  our  ancestors." 

Donna  Micaela  tried  to  calm  her. 

"They  have  sent  you  out  to  find  out  if  we  still 
have  any  money.  You  are  spying  for  the  rich ;  you 
are  in  league  with  the  government.  Those  blood- 
suckers in  Rome  have  paid  you." 

Donna  Micaela  turned  away  from  her. 

"I  came  to  talk  to  you,  Master  Pamphilio,"  she 
said  to  the  old  man. 

"But  I  shall  answer  you,"  replied  Donna  Con- 
cetta;  "for  this  is  a  disagreeable  matter,  and  such 
things  are  my  affair.  I  know  what  is  the  duty  of 
the  wife  of  a  great  man,  Donna  Micaela." 

Donna  Concetta  became  silent,  for  the  fine  lady 
gave  her  a  look  which  was  so  full  of  jealous  longing 
that  it  made  her  sorry  for  her.  Heavens,  yes,  there 
had  been  a  difference  in  their  husbands ;  Don  Fer- 
rante  and  Master  Pamphilio ! 


PANEM  ET  CIRCENSES  193 


II 

PANEM   ET   CIRCENSES 

IN  Diamante  travellers  are  often  shown  two  palaces 
that  are  falling  into  ruins  without  ever  having  been 
completed.  They  have  big  window-openings  with- 
out frames,  high  walls  without  a  roof,  and  wide  doors 
closed  with  boards  and  straw.  The  two  palaces 
stand  opposite  each  other  on  the  street,  both  equally 
unfinished  and  equally  in  ruins.  There  are  no  scaf- 
foldings about  them,  and  no  one  can  enter  them. 
They  seem  to  be  only  built  for  the  doves. 

Listen  to  what  is  told  of  them. 

What  is  a  woman,  O  signore?  Her  foot  is  so 
little  that  she  goes  through  the  world  without  leav- 
ing a  trace  behind  her.  For  man  she  is  like  his 
shadow.  She  has  followed  him  through  his  whole 
life  without  his  having  noticed  her. 

Not  much  can  be  expected  of  a  woman.  She  has 
to  sit  all  day  shut  in  like  a  prisoner.  She  cannot 
even  learn  to  spell  a  love-letter  correctly.  She 
cannot  do  anything  of  permanence.  When  she  is 
dead  there  is  nothing  to  write  on  her  tombstone. 
All  women  are  of  the  same  height. 

But  once  a  woman  came  to  Diamante  who  was  as 
much  above  all  other  women  as  the  century-old  palm 
is  above  the  grass.  She  possessed  lire  by  thou- 
sands, and  could  give  them  away  or  keep  them,  as 
she  pleased.  She  turned  aside  for  no  one.  She 

'3 


194          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

was  not  afraid  of  being  hated.  She  was  the  greatest 
marvel  that  had  ever  been  seen. 

Of  course  she  was  not  a  Sicilian.  She  was  an 
Englishwoman.  And  the  first  thing  she  did  when 
she  came  was  to  take  the  whole  first  floor  of  the 
hotel  for  herself  alone.  What  was  that  for  her? 
All  Diamante  would  not  have  been  enough  for  her. 

No,  all  Diamante  was  not  enough  for  her.  But 
as  soon  as  she  had  come  she  began  to  govern  the 
town  like  a  queen.  The  syndic  had  to  obey  her. 
Was  it  not  she  who  made  him  put  stone  benches  in 
the  square?  Was  it  not  at  her  command  that  the 
streets  were  swept  every  day? 

When  she  woke  in  the  morning  all  the  young 
men  of  Diamante  stood  waiting  outside  her  door,  to 
be  allowed  to  accompany  her  on  some  excursion. 
They  had  left  shoemaker's  awl  and  stone-cutter's 
chisel  to  act  as  guides  to  her.  Each  had  sold  his 
mother's  silk  dress  to  buy  a  side-saddle  for  his 
donkey,  so  that  she  might  ride  on  it  to  the  castle  or 
to  Tre  Castagni.  They  had  divested  themselves  of 
house  and  home  in  order  to  buy  a  horse  and  carriage 
to  drive  her  to  Randazzo  and  Nicolosi. 

We  were  all  her  slaves.  The  children  began  to 
beg  in  English,  and  the  old  blind  women  at  the 
hotel  door,  Donna  Pepa  and  Donna  Tura,  draped 
themselves  in  dazzlingly  white  veils  to  please  her. 

Everything  moved  round  her;  industries  and 
trades  grew  up  about  her.  Those  who  could  do 
nothing  else  dug  in  the  earth  for  coins  and  pottery 
to  offer  her.  Photographers  moved  to  the  town  and 
began  to  work  for  her.  Coral  merchants  and  hawkers 
of  tortoise-shell  grew  out  of  the  earth  about  her. 
The  priests  of  Santa  Agnese  dug  up  the  old  Dionysius 


PANEM  ET  CIRCE  NSES  195 

theatre,  that  lay  hidden  behind  their  church,  for  her 
sake;  and  every  one  who  owned  a  ruined  villa  un- 
earthed in  the  darkness  of  the  cellar  remains  of 
mosaic  floors  and  invited  her  by  big  posters  to  come 
and  see. 

There  had  been  foreigners  before  in  Diamante, 
but  they  had  come  and  gone,  and  no  one  had  enjoyed 
such  power.  There  was  soon  not  a  man  in  the  town 
who  did  not  put  all  his  trust  in  the  English  signorina. 
She  even  succeeded  in  putting  a  little  life  into  Ugo 
Favara.  You  know  Ugo  Favara,  the  advocate,  who 
was  to  have  been  a  great  man,  but  had  reverses  and 
came  home  quite  broken.  She  employed  him  to  take 
care  of  her  affairs.  She  needed  him,  and  she  took 
him. 

There  has  never  been  a  woman  in  Diamante  who 
has  done  so  much  business  as  she.  She  spread  out 
like  green-weed  in  the  spring.  One  clay  no  one 
knows  that  there  is  any,  and  the  next  it  is  a  great 
clump.  Soon  it  was  impossible  to  go  anywhere 
in  Diamante  without  coming  on  her  traces.  She 
bought  country  houses  and  town  houses ;  she  bought 
almond-groves  and  lava-streams.  The  best  places 
on  Etna  to  see  the  view  were  hers  as  well  as  the 
thirsting  earth  on  the  plain.  And  in  town  she  began 
to  build  two  big  palaces.  She  was  to  live  in  them 
and  rule  her  kingdom. 

We  shall  never  see  a  woman  like  her  again.  She 
was  not  content  with  all  that.  She  wished  also  to 
fight  the  fight  with  poverty,  O  signore,  with  Sicilian 
poverty!  How  much  she  gave  out  each  day,  and 
how  much  she  gave  away  on  feast-days !  Wagons, 
drawn  by  two  pairs  of  oxen,  went  down  to  Catania 
and  came  back  piled  up  with  all  sorts  of  clothing 


196          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  was  determined  that  they  should  have  whole 
clothes  in  the  town  where  she  reigned. 

But  listen  to  what  happened  to  her;  how  the 
struggle  with  poverty  ended  and  what  became  of  the 
kingdom  and  the  palace. 

She  gave  a  banquet  for  the  poor  people  of  Dia- 
mante, and  after  the  banquet  an  entertainment  in 
the  Grecian  theatre.  It  was  what  an  old  emperor 
might  have  done.  But  who  has  ever  before  heard  of 
a  woman  doing  such  a  thing? 

She  invited  all  the  poor  people.  There  were  the 
two  blind  women  from  the  hotel-door,  and  old  Assunta 
from  the  Cathedral  steps.  There  was  the  man  from 
the  post-house,  who  had  his  chin  bound  up  in  a  red 
cloth  on  account  of  cancer  of  the  face ;  and  there  was 
the  idiot  who  opens  the  iron  doors  of  the  Grecian 
theatre.  All  the  donkey-boys  were  there,  and  the 
handless  brothers,  who  exploded  a  bomb  in  their 
childhood  and  lost  their  fingers;  and  the  man  with 
the  wooden  leg,  and  the  old  chair-maker  who  had 
grown  too  old  to  work,  both  were  there. 

It  was  strange  to  see  them  creep  out  of  their 
holes,  all  the  poor  in  Diamante.  The  old  women 
who  sit  and  spin  with  distaffs  in  the  dark  alleys  were 
there,  and  the  organ-grinder,  who  has  an  instrument 
as  big  as  a  church-organ,  a  wandering  young  man- 
dolinist  from  Naples  with  a  body  full  of  all  possible 
deviltries.  All  those  with  diseased  eyes  and  all  the 
decrepit;  those  without  a  roof  over  their  heads; 
those  who  used  to  collect  sorrel  by  the  roadside  for 
dinner;  the  stone-cutter,  who  earned  one  lira  a  day 
and  had  six  children  to  provide  for,  —  they  had  all 
been  invited  and  were  present  at  the  feast. 

It  was  poverty  marshalling  its  troops  for  the  Eng- 


PANEM  ET  CIRCENSES  197 

lish  signorina.     Who  has  such  an  army  as  poverty  ? 
But  for  once  the  English  signorina  could  conquer  it. 

She  had  something  to  fight  with  too  and  to  con- 
quer with.  She  filled  the  whole  square  with  loaded 
tables.  She  had  wine-skins  arranged  along  the 
stone  bench  that  lines  the  wall  of  the  Cathedral. 
She  had  turned  the  deserted  convent  into  a  larder 
and  kitchen.  She  had  all  the  foreign  colony  in 
Diamante  dressed  in  white  aprons,  to  serve  the 
courses.  She  had  all  of  Diamante  who  are  used  to 
eating  their  fill,  wandering  to  and  fro  as  spectators. 

Ah,  spectators,  what  did  she  not  have  for  specta- 
tors? She  had  great  Etna  and  the  dazzling  sun. 
She  had  the  red  peaks  of  the  inland  mountains  and 
the  old  temple  of  Vulcan,  that  was  now  consecrated 
to  San  Pasquale.  And  none  of  them  had  ever  seen 
a  satisfied  Diamante.  None  of  them  had  ever  before 
happened  to  think  how  much  more  beautiful  they 
themselves  would  be  if  the  people  could  look  at 
them  without  hunger  hissing  in  their  ears  and  tramp- 
ling on  their  heels. 

But  mark  one  thing!  Although  that  signorina 
was  so  wonderful  and  so  great,  she  was  not  beauti- 
ful. And  in  spite  of  all  her  power,  she  was  neither 
charming  nor  attractive.  She  did  not  rule  with 
jests,  and  she  did  not  reward  with  smiles.  She 
had  a  heavy,  clumsy  body,  and  a  heavy,  clumsy 
disposition. 

The  day  she  gave  food  to  the  poor  she  became  a 
different  person.  A  chivalrous  people  live  in  our 
noble  island.  Among  all  those  poor  people  there 
was  not  one  who  let  her  feel  that  she  was  exercising 
charity.  They  worshipped  her,  but  they  worshipped 
her  as  a  woman.  They  sat  down  at  the  table  as 


198  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

with  an  equal.  They  behaved  to  her  as  guests  to 
their  hostess.  "  To-day  I  do  you  the  honor  to  come 
to  you ;  to-morrow  you  do  me  the  honor  to  come  to 
me.  So  and  not  otherwise."  She  stood  on  the  high 
steps  of  the  town-hall  and  looked  down  at  all  the 
tables.  And  when  the  old  chair-maker,  who  sat  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  had  got  his  glass  filled,  he 
rose,  bowed  to  her  and  said  :  "  I  drink  to  your  pros- 
perity, signorina. " 

So  did  they  all.  They  laid  their  hands  on  their 
hearts  and  bowed  to  her.  It  would  have  perhaps 
been  good  for  her  if  she  had  met  with  such  chivalry 
earlier  in  life.  Why  had  the  men  in  her  native  land 
let  her  forget  that  women  exist  to  be  worshipped  ? 

Here  they  all  looked  as  if  they  were  burning  with 
a  quiet  adoration.  Thus  are  women  treated  in  our 
noble  island.  What  did  they  not  give  in  return  for 
the  food  and  the  wine  that  she  had  offered  them? 
They  gave  youth  and  light-heartedness  and  all  the 
dignity  of  being  worth  coveting.  They  made 
speeches  for  her.  "  Noble-hearted  signorina,  you 
who  have  come  to  us  from  over  the  sea,  you  who 
love  Sicily,"  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  She  showed 
that  she  could  blush.  She  no  longer  hid  her  power 
to  smile.  When  they  had  finished  speaking,  the 
lips  of  the  English  signorina  began  to  tremble. 
She  became  twenty  years  younger.  It  was  what  she 
needed. 

The  donkey-boy  was  there,  who  carries  the  Eng- 
lish ladies  up  to  Tre  Castagni,  and  who  always  falls 
in  love  with  them  before  he  parts  from  them.  Now 
his  eyes  were  suddenly  opened  to  the  great  bene- 
factress. It  is  not  only  a  slender,  delicate  body 
and  a  soft  cheek  that  are  worthy  to  be  adored,  but 


PANEM  ET  CIRCENSES  199 

also  strength  and  force.  The  donkey-boy  suddenly 
dropped  knife  and  fork,  leaned  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  and  sat  and  looked  at  her.  And  all  the  other 
donkey-boys  did  the  same.  It  spread  like  a  con- 
tagion. It  grew  hot  with  burning  glances  about  the 
English  signorina. 

It  was  not  only  the  poor  people  who  adored  her. 
The  advocate,  Ugo  Favara,  came  and  whispered  to 
her  that  she  had  come  as  a  providence  to  his  poor 
land  and  to  him.  "  If  only  I  had  met  such  a  woman 
as  you  before,"  he  said. 

Fancy  an  old  bird  which  has  sat  in  a  cage  for 
many  years  and  become  rough  and  lost  all  the  gloss 
of  his  feathers.  And  then  some  one  comes  and 
straightens  them  out  and  smooths  them  back.  Think 
of  it,  signore ! 

There  was  that  boy  from  Naples.  He  took  his 
mandolin  and  began  to  sing  his  very  best.  You 
know  how  he  sings;  he  pouts  with  his  big  mouth 
and  says  ugly  words.  He  usually  is  like  a  grinning 
mask.  But  have  you  seen  the  angel  in  his  eyes? 
An  angel  which  seems  to  weep  over  his  fall  and  is 
filled  with  a  holy  frenzy.  That  evening  he  was  only 
an  angel.  He  raised  his  head  like  one  inspired  by 
God,  and  his  drooping  body  became  elastic  and  full 
of  proud  vitality.  Color  came  into  his  livid  cheeks. 
And  he  sang;  he  sang  so  that  the  notes  seemed  to 
fly  like  fireflies  from  his  lips  and  fill  the  air  with 
joy  and  dance. 

When  it  grew  dark  they  all  went  over  to  the 
Grecian  theatre.  That  was  the  finishing  touch  to 
the  entertainment.  What  did  she  not  have  to  offer 
there ! 

She  had   the    Russian    singer    and   the   German 


200  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

variet6  artists.  She  had  the  English  wrestlers  and 
the  American  magician.  But  what  was  that  com- 
pared to  all  the  rest :  the  silvery  moonlight  and  the 
place  and  its  memories?  Those  poor  people  seemed 
to  feel  like  the  Greeks  and  leaders  of  fashion  when 
they  once  more  took  their  places  on  the  stone- 
benches  of  their  own  old  theatre  and  from  between 
the  tottering  pillars  looked  out  at  the  most  beautiful 
panorama. 

Those  poor  people  did  not  stint;  they  shared  all 
the  pleasure  they  received.  They  did  not  spare  jubi- 
lation; there  was  no  stopping  their  hand-clapping. 
The  performers  left  the  platform  with  a  wealth  of 
praise. 

Some  one  begged  the  English  signorina  to  appear. 
All  the  adoration  was  meant  for  her.  She  ought  to 
stand  face  to  face  with  it  and  feel  it.  And  they 
told  her  how  intoxicating  it  was,  how  elevating, 
how  inflaming. 

She  liked  the  proposal.  She  immediately  agreed. 
She  had  sung  in  her  youth,  and  the  English  never 
seem  to  be  afraid  to  sing.  She  would  not  have  done 
it  if  she  had  not  been  in  a  good  mood,  and  she 
wished  to  sing  for  those  who  loved  her. 

She  came  as  the  last  number.  Fancy  what  it  was 
to  stand  on  such  an  old  stage !  It  was  where  Anti- 
gone had  been  buried  alive  and  Iphigenia  had  been 
sacrificed.  The  English  signorina  stepped  forward 
there  to  receive  every  conceivable  honor. 

It  stormed  to  meet  her  as  soon  as  she  showed  her- 
self. They  seemed  to  wish  to  stamp  the  earth  to 
pieces  to  honor  her. 

It  was  a  proud  moment.  She  stood  there  with 
Etna  as  a  background  and  the  Mediterranean  as 


PANEM  ET  CIRCENSES  2OI 

wings.  Before  her  on  the  grass-grown  benches  was 
sitting  conquered  poverty,  and  she  felt  that  she  had 
all  Diamante  at  her  feet. 

She  chose  "  Bellini,"  our  own  "  Bellini. "  She  too 
wished  to  be  amiable  and  so  she  sang  "Bellini," 
who  was  born  here  under  Etna;  "Bellini "  whom  we 
know  by  heart,  note  for  note. 

Of  course,  O  signore,  of  course  she  could  not 
sing.  She  had  mounted  the  tribune  only  to  re- 
ceive homage.  She  had  come  in  order  to  let  the 
love  of  the  people  find  an  outlet.  And  now  she 
sang  false  and  feebly.  And  the  people  knew  every 
note. 

It  was  that  mandolinista  from  Naples.  He  was 
the  first  to  grimace  and  to  take  a  note  as  false  as 
that  of  the  English  signorina.  Then  it  was  the 
man  with  the  cancer,  who  laughed  till  he  laughed 
his  neckcloth  off.  Then  it  was  the  donkey-boy, 
who  began  to  clap  his  hands. 

Then  they  all  began.  It  was  madness,  but  that 
they  did  not  understand.  It  is  not  in  the  land  of 
the  old  Greeks  that  people  can  bear  barbarians  who 
sing  false.  Donna  Pepa  and  Donna  Tura  laughed 
as  they  had  never  done  before  in  their  lives.  "  Not 
one  true  note !  By  the  Madonna  and  San  Pasquale, 
not  one  true  note !  " 

They  had  eaten  their  fill  for  once  in  their  lives. 
It  was  natural  that  intoxication  and  madness  should 
take  hold  of  them.  And  why  should  they  not  laugh? 
She  had  not  given  them  food  in  order  to  torture 
their  ears  with  files  and  saws.  Why  should  they 
not  defend  themselves  by  laughing?  Why  should 
they  not  mimic  and  hiss  and  scream?  Why  should 
they  not  lean  backward  and  split  their  sides  with 


202          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

laughter?  They  were  not  the  English  signorina's 
slaves,  I  suppose. 

It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her.  It  was  too  great  a 
blow  for  her  to  understand.  Were  they  hissing  her? 
It  must  be  something  happening  among  them; 
something  that  she  could  not  see.  She  sang  the 
aria  to  its  end.  She  was  convinced  that  the  laughter 
was  for  something  with  which  she  had  nothing  to 
do. 

When  she  had  finished  a  sort  of  storm  of  ap- 
plause roared  over  her.  At  last  she  understood. 
Torches  and  the  moonlight  made  the  night  so  bright 
that  she  could  see  the  rows  of  people  twisting  with 
laughter.  She  heard  the  scoffs  and  the  jests  now, 
when  she  was  not  singing.  They  were  for  her. 
Then  she  fled  from  the  stage.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
Etna  itself  heaved  with  laughter,  and  that  the  sea 
sparkled  with  merriment. 

But  it  grew  worse  and  worse.  They  had  had  such 
a  good  time,  those  poor  people;  they  had  never  had 
such  a  good  time  before,  and  they  wished  to  hear 
her  once  again.  They  called  for  her;  they  cried: 
"  Bravo !  Bis !  Da  capo ! "  They  could  not  lose  such 
a  pleasure.  She,  she  was  almost  unconscious. 
There  was  a  storm  about  her.  They  screamed ;  they 
roared  to  get  her  in.  She  saw  them  lift  their  arms 
and  threaten  her  to  get  her  in.  All  at  once  it  was 
all  turned  into  an  old  circus.  She  had  to  go  in  to 
be  devoured  by  monsters. 

It  went  on;  it  went  on;  it  became  wilder  and 
wilder.  The  other  performers  were  frightened  and 
begged  her  to  yield.  And  she  herself  was  frightened. 
It  looked  as  if  they  would  have  killed  her  if  she  did 
not  do  what  they  wished. 


PANEM  ET  CIRCENSES  203 

She  dragged  herself  on  the  stage  and  stood  face 
to  face  with  the  crowd.  There  was  no  pity.  She 
sang  because  they  all  wished  to  be  amused.  That 
was  the  worst.  She  sang  because  she  was  afraid  of 
them  and  did  not  dare  not  to.  She  was  a  foreigner 
and  alone,  and  she  had  no  one  to  protect  her,  and 
she  was  afraid.  And  they  laughed  and  laughed. 

Screams  and  cries,  crowing  and  whistling  accom- 
panied the  whole  aria.  No  one  had  mercy  on  her. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  the  need  of 
mercy. 

Well,  the  next  day  she  resolved  to  depart.  She 
could  not  endure  Diamante  any  longer.  But  when 
she  told  the  advocate,  Favara,  he  implored  her  to 
stay  for  his  sake  and  made  her  an  offer  of  marriage. 

He  had  chosen  his  time  well.  She  said  yes,  and 
was  married  to  him.  But  after  that  time  she  built 
no  more  on  her  palaces;  she  made  no  struggle 
against  poverty;  she  cared  nothing  to  be  queen  in 
Diamante.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  She  never 
showed  herself  on  the  street;  she  lived  indoors  like 
a  Sicilian. 

Her  little  house  stood  hidden  away  behind  a  big 
building,  and  of  herself  no  one  knew  anything. 
They  only  knew  that  she  was  quite  changed.  No 
one  knew  whether  she  was  happy  or  unhappy; 
whether  she  shut  herself  in  because  she  hated  the 
people,  or  because  she  wished  to  be  as  a  Sicilian 
wife  ought  to  be. 

Does  it  not  always  end  so  with  a  woman  ?  When 
they  build  their  palaces  they  are  never  finished. 
Women  can  do  nothing  that  has  permanence. 


204          r&£   MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


III 

THE  OUTCAST 

WHEN  Donna  Micaela  heard  how  the  poor  people 
had  hooted  Miss  Tottenham  out,  she  hurried  to  the 
hotel  to  express  her  condolence.  She  wished  to  beg 
her  not  to  judge  those  poor  creatures  by  what  they 
had  done  when  they  had  been  put  of  their  heads 
with  pleasure  and  wine.  She  would  beg  her  not  to 
take  her  hand  from  Diamante.  She  herself  did  not 
care  very  much  for  Miss  Tottenham,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  poor  —  She  would  say  anything  to 
pacify  her. 

When  she  came  to  the  hotel  Etna,  she  saw  the 
whole  street  filled  with  baggage-wagons.  So  there 
was  no  hope.  The  great  benefactress  was  going  away. 

Outside  the  hotel  there  was  much  sorrow  and 
despair.  The  two  old  blind  women,  Donna  Pepa 
and  Donna  Tura,  who  had  always  sat  in  the  hotel 
court-yard,  were  now  shut  out,  and  they  were  kneel- 
ing before  the  door.  The  young  donkey-driver,  who 
loved  all  young  English  ladies,  stood  with  his  face 
pressed  against  the  wall  and  wept. 

Inside  the  hotel  the  landlord  walked  up  and  down 
the  long  corridor,  raging  at  Providence  for  sending 
him  this  misfortune.  "Signer  Dio,"  he  mumbled, 
"I  am  beggared.  If  you  let  this  happen,  I  will  take 
my  wife  by  the  hand  and  my  children  in  my  arms 
and  throw  myself  with  them  down  into  Etna." 


THE  OUTCAST  2O$ 

The  landlady  was  very  pale  and  humble.  She 
scarcely  dared  to  lift  her  eyes  from  the  ground. 
She  would  have  liked  to  creep  about  on  her  knees 
to  prevail  upon  the  rich  signorina  to  remain. 

"Do  you  dare  to  speak  to  her,  Donna  Micaela?" 
she  said.  "  May  God  help  you  to  speak  to  her ! 
Alas !  tell  her  that  the  Neapolitan  boy,  who  was  the 
cause  of  the  whole  misfortune,  has  been  turned  out 
of  the  town.  Tell  her  that  they  all  wish  to  make 
amends.  Speak  to  her,  signora ! " 

The  landlady  took  Donna  Micaela  to  the  English- 
woman's drawing-room  and  went  in  with  her  card 
She  came  back  immediately  and  asked  her  to  wait 
a  few  minutes.     Signorina  Tottenham  was  having  a 
business  talk  with  Signer  Favara. 

It  was  the  very  moment  when  the  advocate  Favara 
asked  Miss  Tottenham's  hand  in  marriage;  and 
while  Donna  Micaela  waited  she  heard  him  say 
quite  loud:  "You  must  not  go  away,  signorina! 
What  will  become  of  me  if  you  go  away?  I  love 
you ;  I  cannot  let  you  go.  I  should  not  have  dared 
to  speak  if  you  had  not  threatened  to  go  away. 
But  now  —  " 

He  lowered  his  voice  again,  but  Donna  Micaela 
would  hear  no  more  and  went  away.  She  saw  that 
she  was  superfluous.  If  Signor  Favara  could  not 
succeed  in  keeping  the  great  benefactress,  no  one 
could. 

When  she  went  out  again  through  the  gateway  the 
landlord  was  standing  there  quarrelling  with  the  old 
Franciscan,  Fra  Felice.  He  was  so  irritated  that 
he  not  only  quarrelled  with  Fra  Felice,  he  also 
drove  him  from  his  house. 

"Fra  Felice,"  he  cried,  "you  come  to  make  more 


206          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

trouble  with  our  great  benefactress.  You  will  only 
make  her  more  angry.  Go  away,  I  tell  you !  You 
wolf,  you  man-eater,  go  away ! " 

Fra  Felice  was  quite  as  enraged  as  the  landlord, 
and  tried  to  force  his  way  past  him.  But  then  the 
latter  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  without  further 
notice  marched  him  down  the  steps. 

Fra  Felice  was  a  man  who  had  received  a  great 
gift  from  his  Creator.  In  Sicily,  where  everybody 
plays  in  the  lottery,  there  are  people  who  have  the 
power  to  foretell  what  numbers  will  win  at  the  next 
drawing.  He  who  has  such  second  sight  is  called 
"polacco,"  and  is  most  often  found  in  some  old 
begging  monk.  Fra  Felice  was  such  a  monk.  He 
was  the  greatest  polacco  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Etna. 

As  every  one  wished  him  to  tell  them  a  winning 
tern  or  quartern,  he  was  always  treated  with  great 
consideration.  He  was  not  used  to  be  taken  by  the 
arm  and  be  thrown  into  the  street,  Fra  Felice. 

He  was  nearly  eighty  years  old  and  quite  dried- 
up  and  infirm.  As  he  staggered  away  between  the 
wagons,  he  stumbled,  trod  on  his  cloak,  and  almost 
fell.  But  none  of  the  porters  and  driver?  that  stood 
by  the  door  talking  and  lamenting  had  time  that  day 
to  think  of  Fra  Felice. 

The  old  man  tottered  along  in  his  heavy  homespun 
cloak.  He  was  so  thin  and  dry  that  there  seemed 
to  be  more  stiffness  in  the  cloak  than  in  the  monk. 
It  seemed  to  be  the  old  cloak  that  held  him  up. 

Donna  Micaela  caught  up  with  him  and  gently 
drew  the  old  man's  arm  through  her  own.  She 
could  not  bear  to  see  how  he  struck  against  the 
lamp-posts  and  fell  over  steps.  But  Fra  Felice 


THE   OUTCAST  2O? 

never  noticed  that  she  was  looking  after  him.  He 
walked  and  mumbled  and  cursed,  and  did  not  know 
but  that  he  was  as  much  alone  as  if  he  sat  in  his 
cell. 

Donna  Micaela  wondered  why  Fra  Felice  was  so 
angry  with  Miss  Tottenham.  Had  she  been  out  to 
his  monastery  and  taken  down  frescos  from  the 
walls,  or  what  had  she  done? 

Fra  Felice  had  lived  for  sixty  years  in  the  big 
Franciscan  monastery  outside  the  Porta  Etnea,  wall 
to  wall  with  the  old  church  San  Pasquale. 

Fra  Felice  had  been  monk  there  for  thirty  years, 
when  the  monastery  was  given  up  and  sold  to  a 
layman.  The  other  monks  moved  away,  but  Fra 
Felice  remained  because  he  could  not  understand 
what  selling  the  house  of  San  Francisco  could 
mean. 

If  laymen  were  to  come  there,  it  seemed  to  Fra 
Felice  almost  more  essential  that  at  least  one  monk 
should  remain.  Who  else  would  attend  to  the  bell- 
ringing,  or  prepare  medicines  for  the  peasant  women, 
or  give  bread  to  the  poor  of  the  monastery?  And 
Fra  Felice  chose  a  cell  in  a  retired  corner  of  the 
monastery,  and  continued  to  go  in  and  out  as  he  had 
always  done. 

The  merchant  who  owned  the  monastery  never 
visited  it.  He  did  not  care  about  the  old  building; 
he  only  wanted  the  vineyards  belonging  to  it.  So 
Fra  Felice  still  reigned  in  the  old  monastery,  and 
fastened  up  the  fallen  cornices  and  white-washed 
the  walls.  As  many  poor  people  as  had  received 
food  at  the  monastery  in  former  days,  still  received 
it.  For  his  gift  of  prophecy  Fra  Felice  got  such 
large  alms  as  he  wandered  through  the  towns  of 


208          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Etna  that  he  could  have  been  a  rich  man ;  but  every 
bit  of  it  went  to  the  monastery. 

Fra  Felice  had  suffered  an  even  greater  grief  than 
for  the  monastery  on  account  of  the  monastery 
church.  It  had  been  desecrated  during  war,  with 
bloody  fights  and  other  atrocities,  so  that  mass  could 
never  be  held  there.  But  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand either.  The  church,  where  he  had  made  his 
vows,  was  always  holy  to  Fra  Felice. 

It  was  his  greatest  sorrow  that  his  church  had 
fallen  entirely  into  ruin.  He  had  looked  on  when 
Englishmen  had  come  and  bought  pulpit  and  lectern 
and  choir  chairs.  He  had  not  been  able  to  pre- 
vent collectors  from  Palermo  coming  and  taking  the 
chasideliers  and  pictures  and  brass  hooks.  How- 
ever much  he  had  wished  it,  he  had  not  been  able  to 
do  anything  to  save  his  church.  But  he  hated  those 
church-pillagers;  and  when  Donna  Micaela  saw  him 
so  angry,  she  thought  that  Miss  Tottenham  had 
wished  to  take  some  of  his  treasures  from  him. 

But  the  fact  was  that  now,  when  Fra  Felice's 
church  was  emptied,  and  no  one  came  any  more  to 
plunder  there,  he  had  begun  to  think  of  doing  some- 
thing to  embellish  it  once  more,  and  he  had  had  his 
eye  on  the  collection  of  images  of  the  saints  in  the 
possession  of  the  rich  English  lady.  At  her  enter- 
tainment, when  she  had  been  kind  and  gentle  towards 
every  one,  he  had  dared  to  ask  her  for  her  beautiful 
Madonna,  who  had  a  dress  of  velvet  and  eyes  like 
the  sky.  And  his  request  had  been  granted 

That  morning  Fra  Felice  had  swept  and  dusted 
the  church,  and  put  flowers  on  the  altar,  before  he 
ivent  to  fetch  the  image.  But  when  he  came  to  the 
hotel,  the  Englishwoman  had  changed  her  mind; 


THE   OUTCAST  209 

she  had  not  been  at  all  willing  to  give  him  the 
valuable  Madonna.  In  its  stead  she  had  given  him 
a  little  ragged,  dirty  image  of  the  Christchild,  which 
she  thought  she  could  spare  without  regret. 

Ah,  what  joy  and  expectation  old  Fra  Felice  had 
felt,  and  then  had  been  so  disappointed !  He  could 
not  be  satisfied;  he  came  back  time  after  time  to 
beg  for  the  other  image.  It  was  such  a  valuable 
image  that  he  could  not  have  bought  it  with  all  that 
he  begged  in  a  whole  year.  At  last  the  great  bene- 
factress had  dismissed  him ;  and  it  was  then  that 
Donna  Micaela  had  found  him. 

As  they  went  along  the  street,  she  began  to  talk 
to  the  old  man  and  won  his  story  from  him.  He 
had  the  image  with  him,  and  right  in  the  street  he 
stopped,  showed  it  to  her,  and  asked  her  if  she  had 
ever  seen  a  more  miserable  object. 

Donna  Micaela  looked  at  the  image  for  a  moment 
with  stupefaction.  Then  she  smiled  and  said :  "Lend 
me  the  image  for  a  few  days,  Fra  Felice ! " 

"You  can  take  it  and  keep  it,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  May  it  never  come  before  my  eyes  again ! " 

Donna  Micaela  took  the  image  home  and  worked 
on  it  for  two  days.  When  she  then  sent  it  to  Fra 
Felice  it  shone  with  newly  polished  shoes;  it  had 
a  fresh,  clean  dress ;  it  was  painted,  and  in  its  crown 
shone  bright  stones  of  many  colors. 

He  was  so  beautiful,  the  outcast,  that  Fra  Felice 
placed  him  on  the  empty  altar  in  his  church. 

It  was  very  early  one  morning.  The  sun  had  not 
risen,  and  the  broad  sea  was  scarcely  visible.  It 
was  really  very  early.  The  cats  were  still  roaming 
about  the  roofs;  no  smoke  rose  from  the  chimneys; 

'4 


210          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

and  the  mists  lay  and  rolled  about  in  the  low  valley 
round  the  steep  Monte  Chiaro. 

Old  Fra  Felice  came  running  towards  the  town. 
He  ran  so  fast  that  he  thought  he  felt  the  mountain 
tremble  beneath  him.  He  ran  so  fast  that  the 
blades  of  grass  by  the  roadside  had  no  time  to 
sprinkle  his  cloak  with  dew;  so  fast  that  the  scor- 
pions had  no  time  to  lift  their  tails  and  sting  him. 

As  the  old  man  ran,  his  cloak  flapped  unfastened 
about  him,  and  his  rope  swung  unknotted  behind. 
His  wide  sleeves  waved  like  wings,  and  his  heavy 
hood  pounded  up  and  down  on  his  back,  as  if  it 
wished  to  urge  him  on. 

The  man  in  the  custom-office,  who  was  still  asleep, 
woke  and  rubbed  his  eyes  as  Fra  Felice  rushed  by, 
but  he  had  no  time  to  recognize  him.  The  pave- 
ments were  slippery  with  dampness;  beggars  lay 
and  slept  by  the  high  stone  steps  with  their  legs 
heedlessly  stretched  out  into  the  street ;  exhausted 
domino-players  were  going  home  from  the  Cafe1 
reeling  with  sleep.  But  Fra  Felice  hastened  onward 
regardless  of  all  obstructions. 

Houses  and  gateways,  squares  and  arched-over 
alleys  disappeared  behind  old  Fra  Felice.  He  ran 
half-way  up  the  Corso  before  he  stopped. 

He  stopped  in  front  of  a  big  house  with  many 
heavy  balconies.  He  seized  the  door-knocker  and 
pounded  until  a  servant  awoke.  He  would  not  be 
quiet  till  the  servant  called  up  a  maid,  and  the  maid 
waked  the  signora. 

"  Donna  Micaela,  Fra  Felice  is  downstairs.  He 
insists  on  speaking  to  you." 

When  Donna  Micaela  at  last  came  down  to  Fra 
Felice,  he  was  still  panting  and  breathless,  but 


THE   OUTCAST  211 

there  was  a  fire  in  his  eyes,  and  little  pale  roses  in 
his  cheeks. 

It  was  the  image,  the  image.  When  Fra  Felice 
had  rung  the  four-o'clock  matins  that  morning  he 
had  gone  into  the  church  to  look  at  him. 

Then  he  had  discovered  that  big  stones  had  loosened 
*rom  the  dome  just  over  the  image.  They  had 
fallen  on  the  altar  and  broken  it  to  pieces,  but  the 
image  had  stood  untouched.  And  none  of  the  plaster 
and  dust  that  had  tumbled  down  had  fallen  on  the 
image;  it  was  quite  uninjured. 

Fra  Felice  took  Donna  Micaela's  hand  and  told 
her  that  she  must  go  with  him  to  the  church  and 
see  the  miracle.  She  should  see  it  before  any  one, 
because  she  had  taken  care  of  the  image. 

And  Donna  Micaela  went  with  him  through  the 
gray,  chilly  morning  to  his  monastery,  while  her 
heart  throbbed  with  eagerness  and  expectation. 

When  she  arrived  and  saw  that  Fra  Felice  had 
told  the  truth,  she  said  to  him  that  she  had  recog- 
nized the  image  as  soon  as  she  had  caught  sight  of 
it,  and  that  she  knew  that  it  could  work  miracles. 
"  He  is  the  greatest  and  gentlest  of  miracle-workers," 
she  said. 

Fra  Felice  went  up  to  the  image  and  looked  into 
its  eyes.  For  there  is  a  great  difference  in  images, 
and  the  wisdom  of  an  old  monk  is  needed  to  under- 
stand which  has  power  and  which  has  not.  Now 
Fra  Felice  saw  that  this  image's  eyes  were  deep  and 
glowing,  as  if  they  had  life;  and  that  on  its  lips 
hovered  a  mysterious  smile. 

Then  old  Fra  Felice  fell  on  his  knees  and  stretched 
his  clasped  hands  towards  the  image,  and  his  old 
shrivelled  face  was  lighted  by  a  great  joy. 


212          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

It  seemed  to  Fra  Felice  all  at  once  as  if  the  walls 
of  his  church  were  covered  with  pictures  and  purple 
hangings ;  candles  shone  on  the  altar ;  song  sounded 
from  the  gallery;  and  the  whole  floor  was  covered 
with  kneeling,  praying  people. 

All  imaginary  glory  would  fall  to  the  lot  of  his 
poor  old  church,  now  that  it  possessed  one  of  the 
great  miracle-working  images. 


THE  OLD  MARTYRDOM  213 


IV 

THE  OLD   MARTYRDOM 

FROM  the  summer-palace  in  Diamante  many  letters 
were  sent  during  that  time  to  Gaetano  Alagona,  who 
was  in  prison  in  Como.  But  the  letter-carrier  never 
had  a  letter  in  his  bag  from  Gaetano  addressed  to  the 
summer-palace. 

For  Gaetano  had  gone  into  his  life-long  imprison- 
ment as  if  it  had  been  a  grave.  The  only  thing  he 
asked  or  desired  was  that  it  should  give  him  the 
grave's  forgetfulness  and  peace. 

He  felt  as  if  he  were  dead ;  and  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  hear  the  laments  and  wails 
of  the  survivors.  Nor  did  he  wish  to  be  deceived 
with  hopes,  or  be  tempted  by  tender  words  to  long 
for  family  and  friends.  Nor  did  he  wish  to  hear 
anything  of  what  was  happening  in  the  world,  when 
he  had  no  power  to  take  part  and  to  lead. 

He  found  work  in  the  prison,  and  carved  beautiful 
works  of  art,  as  he  had  always  done.  But  he  never 
would  receive  a  letter,  nor  a  visitor.  He  thought 
that  in  that  way  he  could  cease  to  feel  the  bitterness 
of  his  misfortunes.  He  believed  that  he  would  be 
able  to  teach  himself  to  live  a  whole  life  within  four 
narrow  walls. 

And  for  that  reason  Donna  Micaela  never  had  a 
word  of  answer  from  him. 


214          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Finally  she  wrote  to  the  director  of  the  prison 
and  asked  if  Gaetano  was  still  alive.  He  answered 
that  the  prisoner  she  asked  about  never  read  a  letter. 
He  had  asked  to  be  spared  all  communications  from 
the  outside  world. 

So  she  wrote  no  more.  Instead  she  continued  to 
work  for  her  railway.  She  hardly  dared  to  speak  of 
it  in  Diamante,  but  nevertheless  she  thought  of  noth- 
ing else.  She  herself  sewed  and  embroidered,  and 
she  had  all  her  servants  make  little  cheap  things 
that  she  could  sell  at"  her  bazaar.  In  the  shop  she 
looked  up  old  wares  for  the  tombola.  She  had 
Piero,  the  gate-keeper,  prepare  colored  lanterns ;  she 
persuaded  her  father  to  paint  signs  and  placards; 
and  she  had  her  maid,  Lucia,  who  was  from  Capri, 
arrange  coral  necklaces  and  shell  boxes. 

She  was  not  at  all  sure  that  even  one  person  would 
come  to  her  entertainment.  Every  one  was  against 
her;  no  one  would  help  her.  They  did  not  even 
like  her  to  show  herself  on  the  streets  or  to  talk 
business.  It  was  not  fitting  for  a  well-born  lady. 

Old  Fra  Felice  tried  to  assist  her,  for  he  loved 
her  because  she  had  helped  him  with  the  image. 

One  day,  when  Donna  Micaela  was  lamenting  that 
she  could  not  persuade  any  one  that  the  people 
ought  to  build  the  railway,  he  lifted  his  cap  from 
his  head  and  pointed  to  his  bald  temples. 

"Look  at  me,  Donna  Micaela,"  he  said.  "So 
bald  will  that  railway  make  your  head  if  you  go  on 
as  you  have  begun. " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Fra  Felice?" 

"Donna  Micaela,"  said  the  old  man,  "would  it 
not  be  folly  to  start  on  a  dangerous  undertaking 
without  having  a  friend  and  helper? " 


THE   OLD  MARTYRDOM  21$ 

"  I  have  tried  enough  to  find  friends,  Fra  Felice." 

"  Yes,  men ! "  said  the  old  man.  "  But  how  do 
men  help?  If  any  one  is  going  fishing,  Donna 
Micaela,  he  knows  that  he  must  call  on  San  Fietro; 
if  any  one  wishes  to  buy  a  horse,  he  can  ask  help  of 
San  Antonio  Abbate.  But  if  I  want  to  pray  for 
your  railway,  I  do  not  know  to  whom  I  shall  turn." 

Fra  Felice  meant  that  the  trouble  was  that  she 
had  chosen  no  patron  saint  for  her  railway.  He 
wished  her  to  choose  the  crowned  child  that  stood 
out  in  his  old  church  as  its  first  friend  and  promoter. 
He  told  her  that  if  she  only  did  that  she  would  cer- 
tainly be  helped. 

She  was  so  touched  that  any  one  was  willing  to 
stand  by  her  that  she  instantly  promised  to  pray  for 
her  railway  to  the  child  at  San  Pasquale. 

Fra  Felice  got  a  big  collection-box  and  painted 
on  it  in  bright,  distinct  letters:  "Gifts  for  the  Etna 
Railway,"  and  he  hung  it  in  his  church  beside  the 
altar. 

It  was  not  more  than  a  day  after  that  that  Don 
Antonio  Greco's  wife,  Donna  Emilia,  came  out  to 
the  old,  deserted  church  to  consult  San  Pasquale, 
who  is  the  wisest  of  all  the  saints. 

During  the  autumn  Don  Antonio's  theatre  had 
begun  to  fare  ill,  as  was  to  be  expected  when  no 
one  had  any  money. 

Don  Antonio  thought  to  run  the  theatre  with  less 
expense  than  before.  He  had  cut  off  a  couple  of 
lamps  and  did  not  have  such  big  and  gorgeously 
painted  play-bills. 

But  that  had  been  great  folly.  It  is  not  at  the 
moment  when  people  are  losing  their  desire  to  go  to 
the  theatre  that  it  will  answer  to  shorten  the  prin- 


2! 5          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

cesses'  silk  trains  and  economize  on  the  gilding  of 
the  king's  crowns. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  so  dangerous  at  another  theatre, 
but  at  a  marionette  theatre  it  is  a  risk  to  make  any 
changes,  because  it  is  chiefly  half-grown  boys  who 
go  to  the  marionette  theatre.  Big  people  can  under- 
stand that  sometimes  it  is  necessary  to  economize, 
but  children  always  wish  to  have  things  in  the  same 
way. 

Fewer  and  fewer  spectators  came  to  Don  Antonio, 
and  he  went  on  economizing  and  saving.  Then  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  could  dispense  with  the 
two  blind  violin-players,  Father  Elia  and  Brother 
Tommaso,  who  also  used  to  play  during  the  inter- 
ludes and  in  the  battle-scenes. 

Those  blind  men,  who  earned  so  much  by  singing 
in  houses  of  mourning,  and  who  took  in  vast  sums 
on  feast-days,  were  expensive.  Don  Antonio  dis- 
missed them  and  got  a  hand-organ. 

That  caused  his  ruin.  All  the  apprentices  and 
shop-boys  in  Diamante  ceased  to  go  to  the  theatre. 
They  would  not  sit  and  listen  to  a  hand-organ.  They 
promised  one  another  not  to  go  to  the  theatre  till 
Don  Antonio  had  taken  back  the  fiddlers,  and  they 
kept  their  promise.  Don  Antonio's  dolls  had  to 
perform  to  empty  walls. 

The  young  boys  who  otherwise  would  rather  go 
without  their  supper  than  the  theatre,  stayed  away 
night  after  night.  They  were  convinced  that  they 
could  force  Don  Antonio  to  arrange  everything  as 
before. 

But  Don  Antonio  comes  of  a  family  of  artists. 
His  father  and  his  brother  have  marionette  theatres; 
his  brothers-in-law,  all  his  relations  are  of  the  pro- 


THE  OLD  MARTYRDOM  2i; 

fession.  And  Don  Antonio  understands  his  art. 
He  can  change  his  voice  indefinitely ;  he  can  manoeu- 
vre at  the  same  time  a  whole  army  of  dolls ;  and  he 
knows  by  heart  the  whole  cycle  of  plays  founded  on 
the  chronicles  of  Charlemagne. 

And  now  Don  Antonio's  artistic  feelings  were  hurt. 
He  would  not  be  forced  to  take  back  the  blind  men. 
He  wished  to  have  the  people  come  to  his  theatre 
for  his  sake,  and  not  for  that  of  the  musicians. 

He  changed  his  tactics  and  began  to  play  big 
dramas  with  elaborate  mountings.  But  it  was  futile. 

There  is  a  play  called  "  The  Death  of  the  Paladin," 
which  treats  of  Roland's  fight  at  Ronceval.  It 
requires  so  much  machinery  that  a  puppet  theatre 
has  to  be  kept  shut  for  two  days  for  it  to  be  set  up. 
It  is  so  dear  to  the  public  that  it  is  generally  played 
for  double  price  and  to  full  houses  for  a  whole  month. 
Don  Antonio  now  had  that  play  mounted,  but  he 
did  not  need  to  play  it;  he  had  no  spectators. 

After  that  his  spirit  was  broken.  He  tried  to 
get  Father  Elia  and  Brother  Tommaso  back,  but 
they  now  knew  what  their  value  was  to  him. 

They  demanded  such  a  price  that  it  would  have 
been  ruin  to  pay  them.  It  was  impossible  to  come 
to  any  agreement 

In  the  small  rooms  back  of  the  marionette  theatre 
they  lived  as  in  a  besieged  fortress.  They  had 
nothing  else  to  do  but  to  starve. 

Donna  Emilia  and  Don  Antonio  were  both  gay 
young  people,  but  now  they  never  laughed.  They 
were  in  great  want,  but  Don  Antonio  was  a  proud 
man,  and  he  could  not  bear  to  think  that  his  art  no 
longer  had  the  power  to  draw. 

So,  as  I  said.  Donna  Emilia  went  down   to  the 


218  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

church  of  San  Pasquale  to  ask  the  saint  for  good 
advice.  It  had  been  her  intention  to  repeat  nine 
prayers  to  the  great  stone-image  standing  outside  of 
the  church,  and  then  to  go;  but  before  she  had 
begun  to  pray  she  had  noticed  that  the  church-door 
stood  open.  "  Why  is  San  Pasquale's  church-door 
open?"  said  Donna  Emilia.  "That  has  never  hap- 
pened in  my  time,"  —  and  she  went  into  the  church. 

The  only  thing  to  be  seen  there  was  Fra  Felice's 
beloved  image  and  the  big  collection-box.  The 
image  looked  so  beautiful  in  his  crown  and  his 
rings  that  Donna  Emilia  was  tempted  forward  to 
him,  but  when  she  came  near  enough  to  look  into 
his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  her  so  tender  and  so  cheer- 
ing that  she  knelt  down  before  him  and  prayed. 
She  promised  that  if  he  would  help  her  and  Don 
Antonio  in  their  need,  she  would  put  the  receipts 
of  a  whole  evening  in  the  big  box  that  hung  beside 
him. 

After  her  prayers  were  over,  Donna  Emilia  con- 
cealed herself  behind  the  church-door,  and  tried  to 
catch  what  the  passers-by  were  saying.  For  if  the 
image  was  willing  to  help  her,  he  would  let  her  hear 
a  word  which  would  tell  her  what  to  do. 

She  had  not  stood  there  two  minutes  before  old 
Assunta  of  the  Cathedral  steps  passed  by  with 
Donna  Pepa  and  Donna  Tura.  And  she  heard 
Assunta  say  in  her  solemn  voice :  "  That  was  the 
year  when  I  heard  '  The  Old  Martyrdom '  for  the 
first  time."  Donna  Emilia  heard  quite  distinctly. 
Assunta  really  said  "The  Old  Martyrdom." 

Donna  Emilia  thought  that  she  would  never 
reach  her  home.  It  was  as  if  her  legs  could  not 
carry  her  fast  enough,  and  the  distance  increased  as 


THE   OLD  MARTYRDOM  219 

she  ran.  When  she  finally  saw  the  corner  of  the 
theatre  with  the  red  lanterns  under  the  roof  and  the 
big  illustrated  play-bills,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  gone 
many  miles. 

When  she  came  in  to  Don  Antonio,  he  sat  with 
his  big  head  leaning  on  his  hand  and  stared  at  the 
table.  It  was  terrible  to  see  Don  Antonio.  In 
those  last  weeks  he  had  begun  to  lose  his  hair ;  on 
the  very  top  of  his  head  it  was  so  thin  that  the  skin 
shone  through.  Was  it  strange,  when  he  was  in 
such  trouble?  While  she  had  been  away  he  had 
taken  all  his  puppets  out  and  inspected  them.  He 
did  that  now  every  day.  He  used  to  sit  and  look  at 
the  puppet  that  played  Armida.  Was  she  no  longer 
beautiful  and  beguiling?  he  would  ask.  And  he 
tried  to  polish  up  Roland's  sword  and  Charlemagne's 
crown.  Donna  Emilia  saw  that  he  had  gilded  the 
emperor's  crown  again;  it  was  for  at  least  the  fifth 
time.  But  then  he  had  stopped  in  the  midst  of  his 
work  and  had  sat  down  to  brood.  He  had  noticed  it 
himself.  It  was  not  gilding  that  was  lacking;  it 
was  an  idea. 

As  Donna  Emilia  came  into  the  room,  she 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  her  husband. 

"Look  at  me,  Don  Antonio  Greco,"  she  said. 
"  I  bear  in  my  hands  golden  bowls  full  of  ripe  figs ! " 

And  she  told  how  she  had  prayed,  and  what  she 
had  vowed,  and  what  she  had  been  advised. 

When  she  said  that  to  Don  Antonio,  he  sprang 
up.  His  arms  fell  stiffly  beside  his  body,  and  his 
hair  raised  itself  from  his  head.  He  was  seized 
with  an  unspeakable  terror.  " '  The  Old  Martyr^ 
dom  ' ! "  he  screamed,  "  '  The  Old  Martyrdom  ' ! " 

For   "  The   Old   Martyrdom "    is  a  miracle-play, 


220          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

which  in  its  time  was  given  in  all  Sicily.  It  drove 
out  all  other  oratorios  and  mysteries,  and  was  played 
every  year  in  every  town  for  two  centuries.  It  was 
the  greatest  day  of  the  year,  when  "The  Old 
Martyrdom  "  was  performed.  But  now  it  is  never 
played ;  now  it  only  lives  in  the  people's  memory  as 
a  legend. 

In  the  old  days  it  was  also  played  in  the  marionette 
theatres.  But  now  it  has  come  to  be  considered 
old-fashioned  and  out-of-date.  It  has  probably  no', 
been  played  for  thirty  years. 

Don  Antonio  began  to  roar  and  scream  at  Donnn 
Emilia,  because  she  tortured  him  with  such  folly. 
He  struggled  with  her  as  with  a  demon,  who  had 
come  to  seize  him.  It  was  amazing ;  it  was  heart- 
rending, he  said.  How  could  she  get  hold  of  such 
a  word?  But  Donna  Emilia  stood  quiet  and  let  him 
rave.  She  only  said  that  what  she  had  heard  was 
God's  will. 

Soon  Don  Antonio  began  to  be  uncertain.  The 
great  idea  gradually  took  possession  of  him.  Noth- 
ing had  ever  been  so  loved  and  played  in  Sicily, 
and  did  not  the  same  people  still  live  on  the  noble 
isle  ?  Did  they  not  love  the  same  earth,  the  same 
mountains,  the  same  skies  as  their  forefathers  had 
loved?  Why  should  they  not  also  love  "The  Old 
Martyrdom  "  ? 

He  resisted  as  long  as  he  could.  He  said  to 
Donna  Emilia  that  it  would  cost  too  much.  Where 
could  he  get  apostles  with  long  hair  and  beards? 
He  had  no  table  for  the  Last  Supper;  he  had  none  of 
the  machinery  required  for  the  entry,  and  carrying  of 
the  cross. 

But  Donna  Emilia  saw  that  he  was  going  to  give 


THE  OLD  MARTYRDOM  221 

in,  and  before  night  he  actually  went  to  Fra  Felice 
and  renewed  her  vow  to  put  the  receipts  of  one 
evening  in  the  box  of  the  little  image,  if  it  proved 
to  be  good  advice. 

Fra  Felice  told  Donna  Micaela  about  the  vow, 
and  she  was  glad,  and  at  the  same  time  anxious  how 
it  would  turn  out. 

Through  all  the  town  it  was  known  that  Don 
Antonio  was  mounting  "The  Old  Martyrdom,"  and 
every  one  laughed  at  him.  Don  Antonio  had  lost 
his  mind. 

The  people  would  have  liked  well  enough  to  see 
"The  Old  Martyrdom,"  if  they  could  have  seen  it  as 
it  was  played  in  former  days.  They  would  have, 
liked  to  see  it  given  as  in  Aci,  where  the  noble- 
men of  the  town  played  the  kings  and  the  ser- 
vants, and  the  artisans  took  the  parts  of  the  Jews 
and  the  apostles;  and  where  so  many  scenes  from 
the  Old  Testament  were  added  that  the  spectacle 
lasted  the  whole  day. 

They  would  have  also  liked  to  see  those  wonder 
ful  days  in  Castelbuoco,  when  the  whole  town  was 
transformed  into  Jerusalem.  There  the  mystery 
was  given  so  that  Jesus  came  riding  to  the  town, 
and  was  met  with  palms  at  the  town-gate.  There 
the  church  represented  the  temple  at  Jerusalem  and 
the  town-hall  Pilate's  palace.  There  Peter  warmed 
himself  at  a  fire  in  the  priest's  court-yard ;  the  cruci- 
fixion took  place  on  a  mountain  above  the  town ;  and 
Mary  looked  for  the  body  of  her  son  in  the  grottoes 
of  the  syndic's  garden. 

When  the  people  had  such  things  in  their  memory 
how  could  they  be  content  to  see  the  great  mystery 
in  Don  Antonio's  theatre? 


222          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

But  in  spite  of  everything,  Don  Antonio  worked 
with  the  greatest  eagerness  to  prepare  the  actors  and 
to  arrange  the  elaborate  machinery. 

And  behold,  in  a  few  days  came  Master  Battista, 
who  painted  placards,  and  presented  him  with  a 
play-bill.  He  had  been  glad  to  hear  that  Don 
Antonio  was  going  to  play  "  The  Old  Martyrdom ;  " 
he  had  seen  it  in  his  youth,  and  had  great  pleasure 
in  it. 

So  there  now  stood  in  large  letters  on  the  corner 
of  the  theatre :  "  '  The  Old  Martyrdom  '  or  '  The 
Resurrected  Adam/  tragedy  in  three  acts  by  Cava- 
liere  Filippo  Orioles." 

Don  Antonio  wondered  and  wondered  what  the 
people's  mood  would  be.  The  donkey-boys  and 
apprentices  who  passed  by  his  theatre  read  the 
notice  with  scoffs  and  derision.  It  looked  very 
black  for  Don  Antonio,  but  in  spite  of  it  he  went 
on  faithfully  with  his  work. 

When  the  appointed  evening  came,  and  the 
"  Martyrdom  "  was  to  be  played,  no  one  was  more 
anxious  than  Donna  Micaela.  "Is  the  little  image 
going  to  help  me  ? "  she  asked  herself  incessantly. 

She  sent  out  her  maid,  Lucia,  to  look  about. 
Were  there  any  groups  of  boys  in  front  of  the 
theatre  ?  Did  it  look  as  if  there  were  going  to  be  a 
crowd  ?  Lucia  might  go  to  Donna  Emilia,  sitting 
in  the  ticket-office,  and  ask  her  if  it  looked  hopeful. 

But  when  Lucia  came  back  she  had  not  the 
slightest  hope  to  offer.  There  was  no  crowd  out- 
side the  theatre.  The  boys  had  resolved  to  crush 
Don  Antonio. 

Towards  eight  o'clock  Donna  Micaela  could  no 
longer  endure  sitting  at  home  and  waiting.  She 


THE  OLD  MARTYRDOM  22$ 

persuaded  her  father  to  go  with  her  to  the  theatre. 
She  knew  well  that  a  signora  had  never  set  her  foot 
in  Don  Antonio's  theatre,  but  she  needed  to  see 
how  it  was  going  to  be.  It  would  be  such  a  dizzily 
great  success  for  her  railway  if  Don  Antonio 
succeeded. 

When  Donna  Micaela  came  to  the  theatre  it  was 
a  few  minutes  before  eight,  and  Donna  Emilia  had 
not  sold  a  ticket. 

But  she  was  not  depressed;  "  Go  in,  Donna  Mi- 
caela !  "  she  said ;  "  we  shall  play  at  any  rate,  it  is 
so  beautiful.  Don  Antonio  will  play  it  for  you  and 
your  father  and  me.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  thing 
he  has  ever  performed." 

Donna  Micaela  came  into  the  little  hall.  It  was 
hung  with  black,  as  the  big  theatres  always  were  in 
the  old  days  when  "  The  Old  Martyrdom  "  was  given. 
There  were  dark,  silver-fringed  curtains  on  the 
stage,  and  the  little  benches  were  covered  with 
black. 

Immediately  after  Donna  Micaela  came  in,  Don 
Antonio's  bushy  eyebrows  appeared  in  a  little  hole 
in  the  curtain.  "  Donna  Micaela,"  he  cried,  as 
Donna  Emilia  had  done,  "  we  shall  play  at  any  rate. 
It  is  so  beautiful,  it  needs  no  spectators." 

Just  then  came  Donna  Emilia  herself,  and  opened 
the  door,  and  courtesying,  held  it  back.  It  was  the 
priest,  Don  Matteo,  who  entered. 

"What  do  you  say  to  me,  Donna  Micaela?"  he 
said,  laughing.  "  But  you  understand ;  it  is  '  The 
Old  Martyrdom.'  I  saw  it  in  my  youth  at  the  big 
opera  in  Palermo;  and  I  believe  that  it  was  that  old 
play  that  made  me  become  a  priest." 

The  next  time  the  door  opened  it  was  Father  Elia 


224          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

and  Brother  Tommaso,  who  came  with  their  violins 
under  their  arms  and  felt  their  way  to  their  usual 
places,  as  quietly  as  if  they  had  never  had  any  disa- 
greement with  Don  Antonio. 

The  door  opened  again.  It  was  an  old  woman 
from  the  alley  above  the  house  of  the  little  Moor. 
She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  as  she  came  in. 

After  her  came  four,  five  other  old  women;  and 
Donna  Micaela  looked  at  them  almost  resentfully, 
as  they  gradually  filled  the  theatre.  She  knew  that 
Don  Antonio  would  not  be  satisfied  till  he  had  his 
own  public  back  again,  — till  he  had  his  self-willed, 
beloved  boys  to  play  for. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  hurricane  or  thunder.  The 
doors  flew  open,  — all  at  the  same  time!  It  was  the 
boys.  They  threw  themselves  down  in  their  usual 
places,  as  if  they  had  come  back  to  their  home. 

They  looked  at  one  another,  a  little  ashamed. 
But  it  had  been  impossible  for  them  to  see  one  old 
woman  after  another  go  into  their  theatre  to  see 
what  was  being  played  for  them.  It  had  been  quite 
impossible  to  see  the  whole  street  full  of  old  distaff- 
spinners  in  slow  procession  toward  the  theatre,  and 
so  they  had  rushed  in. 

But  hardly  had  the  gay  young  people  reached  their 
places  before  they  noticed  that  they  had  come  under 
a  severe  master.  Ah,  "  The  Old  Martyrdom,"  "  The 
Old  Martyrdom  !  " 

It  was  not  given  as  in  Aci  and  in  Castelbuoco; 
it  was  not  played  as  at  the  opera  in  Palermo ;  it  was 
only  played  with  miserable  marionettes  with  immov- 
able faces  and  stiff  bodies ;  but  the  old  play  had  not 
lost  its  power. 


THE   OLD  MARTYRDOM  22$ 

Donna  Micaela  noticed  it  already  in  the  second1 
act  during  the  Last  Supper.  The  boys  began  to 
hate  Judas.  They  shouted  threats  and  insults  at 
him. 

As  the  story  of  the  Passion  went  on,  they  laid 
aside  their  hats  and  clasped  their  hands.  They  sat 
quite  still,  with  their  beautiful  brown  eyes  turned 
towards  the  stage.  Now  and  then  a  few  tears 
dropped.  Now  and  then  a  fist  was  clenched  in 
indignation. 

Don  Antonio  spoke  with  tears  in  his  voice;  Donna 
Emilia  was  on  her  knees  at  the  entrance.  Don 
Matteo  looked  with  a  gentle  smile  at  the  little  pup- 
pets and  remembered  the  wonderful  spectacle  in 
Palermo  that  had  made  him  a  priest. 

But  when  Jesus  was  cast  into  prison  and  tortured, 
the  young  people  were  ashamed  of  themselves. 
They  too  had  hated  and  persecuted.  They  were 
like  those  pharisees,  like  those  Romans.  It  was  a 
shame  to  think  of  it.  Could  Don  Antonio  forgive 
them? 


226          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


V 

THE  LADY  WITH  THE  IRON  RING 

DONNA  MICAELA  often  thought  of  a  poor  little 
dressmaker  whom  she  had  seen  in  her  youth  in 
Catania.  She  dwelt  in  the  house  next  to  the  Palazzo 
Palmeri,  sitting  always  in  the  gateway  with  her 
work,  so  that  Donna  Micaela  had  seen  her  a  thou- 
sand times.  She  always  sat  and  sang,  and  she  had 
certainly  only  known  a  single  canzone.  Always, 
always  she  sang  the  same  song. 

"  I  have  cut  a  curl  from  my  black  hair, "  she  had 
sung.  "  I  have  unfastened  my  black,  shining  braids, 
and  cut  a  curl  from  my  hair.  I  have  done  it  to 
gladden  my  friend,  who  is  in  trouble.  Alas,  my 
beloved  is  sitting  in  prison ;  my  beloved  will  never 
again  twine  my  hair  about  his  fingers.  I  have  sent 
him  a  lock  of  my  hair  to  remind  him  of  the  silken 
chains  that  never  more  will  bind  him." 

Donna  Micaela  remembered  the  song  well.  It 
seemed  as  if  it  had  sounded  through  all  her  child- 
hood to  warn  her  of  the  suffering  that  awaited 
her. 

Donna  Micaela  often  sat  at  that  time  on  the  stone 
steps  of  the  church  of  San  Pasquale.  She  saw  won- 
derful events  take  place  far  off  on  that  Etna  so  rich 
in  legends. 


THE  LADY  WITH  THE  IRON  RING       2^^ 

Over  the  black  lava  glided  a  railway  train  on 
newly  laid  shining  rails.  It  was  a  festival  train; 
flags  waved  along  the  road;  there  were  wreaths 
on  the  carriages ;  the  seats  were  covered  with  purple 
cushions.  At  the  stations  the  people  stood  and 
shouted  :  "  Long  live  the  king!  long  live  the  queen  ! 
long  live  the  new  railway  !  " 

She  heard  it  so  well ;  she  herself  was  on  the  train. 
Ah,  how  honored,  how  honored  she  was !  She  was 
summoned  before  the  king  and  queen ;  and  they 
thanked  her  for  the  new  railway.  "Ask  a  favor  of 
us,  princess !  "  said  the  king,  giving  her  the  title 
that  the  ladies  of  the  race  of  Alagona  had  formerly 
borne. 

"Sire,"  she  answered,  as  people  answer  in  stories, 
"give  freedom  to  the  last  Alagona!  " 

And  it  was  granted  to  her.  The  king  could  not 
say  no  to  a  prayer  from  her  who  had  built  that  fine 
railway,  which  was  to  give  riches  to  all  Etna. 

When  Donna  Micaela  lifted  her  arm  so  that  her 
dress-sleeve  slid  up,  one  saw  that  she  wore  as  a 
bracelet  a  ring  of  rusty  iron.  She  had  found  it  in 
the  street,  forced  it  over  her  hand,  and  now  she 
always  wore  it.  Whenever  she  happened  to  see 
or  touch  it,  she  grew  pale,  and  her  eyes  no  longer 
saw  anything  of  the  world  about  her.  She  saw  a 
prison  like  that  of  Foscari  in  the  doge's  palace  in 
Venice.  It  was  a  dark,  narrow,  cellar- like  hole; 
light  filtered  in  through  a  grated  aperture;  and  from 
the  wall  hung  a  great  bunch  of  chains,  which  wound 
like  serpents  round  the  prisoner's  legs  and  arms  and 
neck. 

May  the  saint  work  a  miracle!     May  the  people 


228          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

work !  May  she  herself  soon  have  such  praise  that 
she  can  beg  freedom  for  her  prisoner!  He  will 
die  if  she  does  not  hurry.  May  the  iron  ring  eat 
incessantly  into  her  arm,  so  that  she  shall  not  forget 
him  for  a  second. 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  22g 


VI 

FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY 

WHEN  Donna  Emilia  opened  the  ticket-office  to  sell 
tickets  for  the  second  performance  of  "The  Old 
Martyrdom,"  the  people  stood  in  line  to  get  places; 
the  second  evening  the  theatre  was  so  overcrowded 
that  people  fainted  in  the  crush,  and  the  third  even- 
ing people  came  from  both  Aderno  and  Patern6  to 
see  the  beloved  tragedy.  Don  Antonio  foresaw 
that  he  would  be  able  to  play  it  a  whole  month 
for  double  price,  and  with  two  performances  every 
evening. 

How  happy  they  were,  he  and  Donna  Emilia, 
and  with  what  joy  and  gratitude  they  laid  twenty- 
five  lire  in  the  collection-box  of  the  little  image! 

In  Diamante  the  incident  caused  great  surprise, 
and  many  came  to  Donna  Elisa  to  find  out  if  she 
believed  that  the  saint  wished  them  to  support 
Donna  Micaela, 

"Have  you  heard,  Donna  Elisa,"  they  said,  "that 
Don  Antonio  Greco  has  been  helped  by  the  Christ- 
child  in  San  Pasquale,  because  he  promised  to  give 
the  receipts  of  one  evening  to  Donna  Micaela's 
railway? " 

But  when  they  asked  Donna  Elisa  about  it,  she 
shut  her  mouth  and  looked  as  if  she  could  not  think 
of  anything  but  her  embroidery. 


23P          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Fra  Felice  himself  came  in  and  told  her  of  the 
two  miracles  the  image  had  already  worked. 

"  Signorina  Tottenham  was  very  stupid  to  let  the 
image  go,  if  it  is  such  a  miracle-worker,"  said  Donna 
Elisa. 

So  they  all  thought.  Signorina  Tottenham  had 
owned  the  image  many  years,  and  she  had  not 
noticed  anything.  It  probably  could  not  work 
miracles;  it  was  only  a  coincidence. 

It  was  unfortunate  that  Donna  Elisa  would  not 
believe.  She  was  the  only  one  of  the  old  Alagonas 
left  in  Diamante,  and  the  people  followed  her,  more 
than  they  themselves  knew.  If  Donna  Elisa  had 
believed,  the  whole  town  would  have  helped  Donna 
Micaela. 

But  Donna  Elisa  could  not  believe  that  God  and 
the  saints  wished  to  aid  her  sister-in-law. 

She  had  watched  her  since  the  festival  of  San 
Sebastiano.  Whenever  any  one  spoke  of  Gaetano, 
she  turned  pale,  and  looked  very  troubled.  Her 
features  became  like  those  of  a  sinful  man,  when  he 
is  racked  with  the  pangs  of  conscience. 

Donna  Elisa  sat  and  thought  of  it  one  morning, 
and  it  was  so  engrossing  that  she  let  her  needle  rest. 
"Donna  Micaela  is  no  Etna  woman,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  She  is  on  the  side  of  the  government ; 
she  is  glad  that  Gaetano  is  in  prison." 

Out  in  the  street  at  that  same  moment  people 
came  carrying  a  great  stretcher.  On  it  lay  heaped 
up  a  mass  of  church  ornaments;  chandeliers  and 
shrines  and  reliquaries.  Donna  Elisa  looked  up 
for  a  moment,  then  returned  to  her  thoughts. 

"  She  would  not  let  me  adorn  the  house  of  the 
Alagonas  on  the  festival  of  San  Sebastiano,"  she 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  231 

thought.  "  She  did  not  wish  the  saint  to  help 
Gaetano." 

Two  men  came  by  dragging  a  rattling  dray  on 
which  lay  a  mountain  of  red  hangings,  richly  em- 
broidered stoles,  and  altar  pictures  in  broad,  gilded 
frames. 

Donna  Elisa  struck  out  with  her  hand  as  if  to 
push  away  all  doubts.  It  could  not  be  an  actual 
miracle  which  had  happened.  The  saint  must 
know  that  Diamante  could  not  afford  to  build  a 
railway. 

People  now  came  past  driving  a  yellow  cart, 
packed  full  of  music-stands,  prayer-books,  praying- 
desks  and  confessionals. 

Donna  Elisa  woke  up.  She  looked  out  between 
the  rosaries  that  hung  in  garlands  over  the  window 
panes.  That  was  the  third  load  of  church  furnish- 
ings that  had  passed.  Was  Diamante  being  plun- 
dered ?  Had  the  Saracens  come  to  the  town  ? 

She  went  to  the  door  to  see  better.  Again  came 
a  stretcher,  and  on  it  lay  mourning-wreaths  of  tin, 
tablets  with  long  inscriptions,  and  coats  of  arms, 
such  as  are  hung  up  in  churches  in  memory  of  the 
dead. 

Donna  Elisa  asked  the  bearers,  and  learned  what 
was  happening.  They  were  clearing  out  the  church 
of  Santa  Lucia  in  Gesu.  The  syndic  and  the  town 
council  had  ordered  it  turned  into  a  theatre. 

After  the  uprising  there  had  been  a  new  syndic 
in  Diamante.  He  was  a  young  man  from  Rome, 
who  did  not  know  the  town,  but  nevertheless  wished 
to  do  something  for  it.  He  had  proposed  to  the 
town-council  that  Diamante  should  have  a  theatre 
like  Taormina  and  other  towns.  They  could  quite 


232  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

easily  fit  up  one  of  the  churches  as  a  play-house. 
They  certainly  had  more  than  enough,  with  five 
town  churches  and  seven  monastery  churches ;  they 
could  easily  spare  one  of  them. 

There  was  for  instance  the  Jesuits'  church,  Santa 
Lucia  in  Gesu.  The  monastery  surrounding  it  was 
already  changed  to  a  barracks,  and  the  church  was 
practically  deserted.  It  would  make  an  excellent 
theatre. 

That  was  what  the  new  syndic  had  proposed,  and 
the  town-council  had  agreed  to  it. 

When  Donna  Elisa  heard  what  was  going  on  she 
threw  on  her  mantilla  and  veil,  and  hurried  to  the 
Lucia  church,  with  the  same  haste  with  which  one 
hurries  to  the  house  where  one  knows  that  some  one 
is  dying. 

"  What  will  become  of  the  blind  ?  "  thought  Donna 
Elisa.  "  How  can  they  live  without  Santa  Lucia  in 
Gesu?" 

When  Donna  Elisa  reached  the  silent  little 
square,  round  which  the  Jesuits'  long,  ugly  mon- 
astery is  built,  she  saw  on  the  broad  stone  steps  that 
extend  the  whole  length  of  the  church  front,  a  row 
of  ragged  children  and  rough-haired  dogs.  All  of 
them  were  leaders  of  the  blind,  and  they  cried  and 
whined  as  loud  as  they  could. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  all  ?  "  asked  Donna 
Elisa.  "They  want  to  take  our  church  away  from 
us,"  wailed  the  children.  And  thereupon  all  the 
dogs  howled  more  piteously  than  ever,  for  the  dogs 
of  the  blind  are  almost  human. 

At  the  church-door  Donna  Elisa  met  Master 
Pamphilio's  wife,  Donna  Concetta.  "Ah,  Donna 
Elisa,"  she  said,  "never  in  all  your  life  have  you 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  233 

seen  anything  so  terrible.  You  had  better  not 
go  in." 

But  Donna  Elisa  went  on. 

In  the  church  at  first  she  saw  nothing  but  a  white 
cloud  of  dust.  But  hammer-strokes  thundered 
through  the  cloud,  for  some  workmen  were  busy 
breaking  away  a  big  stone  knight,  lying  in  a  window 
niche. 

"  Lord  God ! "  said  Donna  Elisa,  and  clasped  her 
hands  together ;  "  they  are  tearing  down  Sor  Arrigo !" 
And  she  thought  how  tranquilly  he  had  lain  in  his 
niche.  Every  time  she  had  seen  him  she  had  wished 
that  she  might  be  as  remote  from  disturbance  and 
change  as  old  Sor  Arrigo. 

In  the  church  of  Lucia  there  was  still  another  big 
monument.  It  represented  an  old  Jesuit,  lying  on 
a  black  marble  sarcophagus  with  a  scourge  in  his 
hand  and  his  cap  drawn  far  down  over  his  forehead. 
He  was  called  Father  Succi,  and  the  people  used  to 
frighten  their  children  with  him  in  Diamante. 

"  Would  they  also  dare  to  touch  Father  Succi  ? " 
thought  Donna  Elisa.  She  felt  her  way  through  the 
plaster  dust  to  the  choir,  where  the  sarcophagus 
stood,  in  order  to  see  if  they  had  dared  to  move  the 
old  Jesuit; 

Father  Succi  still  lay  on  his  stone  bed.  He  lay 
there  dark  and  hard,  as  he  had  been  in  life;  and  one 
could  almost  believe  that  he  was  still  alive.  Had 
there  been  doctors  and  tables  with  medicine-bottles 
and  burning  candles  beside  the  bed,  one  would  have 
believed  that  Father  Succi  lay  sick  in  the  choir  of 
his  church,  waiting  for  his  last  hour. 

The  blind  sat  round  about  him,  like  members  of 
the  family  who  gather  round  a  dying  man,  and 


234  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

rocked  their  bodies  in  silent  grief.  There  were  both 
the  women  from  the  hotel  courtyard,  Donna  Pepa 
and  Donna  Tura;  there  was  old  Mother  Saraedda, 
who  ate  the  bread  of  charity  at  the  house  of  the 
Syndic  Voltaro;  there  were  blind  beggars,  blind 
singers,  blind  of  all  ages  and  conditions.  All  the 
blind  of  Diamante  were  there,  and  in  Diamante 
there  is  an  incredible  number  who  no  longer  see  the 
light  of  the  sun. 

They  all  sat  silent  most  of  the  time,  but  every 
now  and  then  one  of  them  burst  into  a  wail.  Some- 
times one  of  them  felt  his  way  forward  to  the  monk, 
Father  Succi,  and  threw  himself  weeping  aloud 
across  him. 

It  made  it  all  the  more  like  a  death-bed  that  the 
priest  and  Father  Rossi  from  the  Franciscan  mon- 
astery were  there  and  were  trying  to  comfort  the 
despairing  people. 

Donna  Elisa  was  much  moved.  Ah,  so  often  she 
had  seen  those  people  happy  in  her  garden,  and 
now  to  meet  them  in  such  misery!  They  had  won 
pleasant  tears  from  her  when  they  had  sung  mourn- 
ing-songs over  her  husband,  Signer  Antonelli,  and 
over  her  brother,  Don  Ferrante.  She  could  not  bear 
to  see  them  in  such  need. 

Old  Mother  Saraedda  began  to  speak  to  Donna 
Elisa. 

"I  knew  nothing  when  I  came,  Donna  Elisa,"  said 
the  old  woman.  "  I  left  my  dog  outside  on  the 
steps  and  went  in  through  the  church  door.  Then 
I  stretched  out  my  arm  to  push  aside  the  curtain 
over  the  door,  but  the  curtain  was  gone.  I  put 
my  foot  down  as  if  there  were  a  step  to  mount  before 
the  threshold,  but  there  was  no  step.  I  stretched 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  235 

out  my  hand  to  take  the  holy  water;  I  courtesied  as  I 
went  by  the  high  altar;  and  I  listened  for  the  little 
bell  that  always  rings  when  Father  Rossi  comes  to 
the  mass.  Donna  Elisa,  there  was  no  holy  water, 
no  altar,  no  bell ;  there  was  nothing ! " 

"Poor  thing,  poor  thing,"  said  Donna  Elisa. 

"Then  I  hear  how  they  are  hammering  and  pound- 
ing up  in  a  window.  '  What  are  you  doing  with 
Sor  Arrigo  ? '  I  cry,  for  I  hear  instantly  that  it  is 
in  Sor  Arrigo's  window. 

"'  We  are  going  to  carry  him  away,'  they  answer 
me. 

"Just  then  the  priest,  Don  Matteo,  comes  to  me, 
takes  me  by  the  hand,  and  explains  everything. 
And  I  am  almost  angry  with  the  priest  when  he  says 
that  it  is  for  a  theatre.  They  want  our  church  for 
a  theatre ! 

" '  Where  is  Father  Succi  ? '  I  say  instantly.  '  Is 
Father  Succi  still  here?'  And  he  leads  me  to 
Father  Succi.  He  has  to  lead  me,  for  I  cannot  find 
my  way.  Since  they  have  taken  away  all  the  chairs 
and  praying-desks  and  carpets  and  platforms  and 
folding  steps,  I  cannot  find  my  way.  Before,  I 
found  my  way  about  here  as  well  as  you." 

"The  priest  will  find  you  another  church,"  said 
Donna  Elisa.  "Donna  Elisa,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"what  are  you  saying?  You  might  as  well  say 
that  the  priest  can  give  us  sight.  Can  Don  Mat- 
teo give  us  a  church  where  we  see,  as  we  saw  in 
this  ?  None  of  us  needed  a  guide  here.  There, 
Donna  Elisa,  stood  an  altar;  the  flowers  on  it 
were  red  as  Etna  at  sunset,  and  we  saw  it.  We 
counted  sixteen  wax-lights  over  the  high  altar  on 
Sunday?,  and  thirty  on  festival  days.  We  could  see 


236          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

when  Father  Rossi  held  the  mass  here.  What  shall 
we  do  in  another  church,  Donna  Elisa?  There  we 
shall  not  be  able  to  see  anything.  They  have  extin- 
guished the  light  of  our  eyes  anew." 

Donna  Elisa's  heart  grew  as  warm  as  if  molten 
lava  had  run  over  it.  It  was  certainly  a  great  wrong 
they  were  doing  to  those  blind  unfortunates. 

So  Donna  Elisa  went  over  to  Don  Matteo. 

"Your  Reverence,"  she  said,  "have  you  spoken 
to  the  syndic? " 

"Alas,  alas,  Donna  Elisa,"  said  Don  Matteo,  "it 
is  better  for  you  to  try  to  talk  to  him  than  for  me." 

"Your  Reverence,  the  syndic  is  a  stranger;  per- 
haps he  has  not  heard  of  the  blind." 

"  Signer  Voltaro  has  been  to  him ;  Father  Rossi 
has  been  to  him ;  and  I  too,  I  too.  He  answers 
nothing  but  that  he  cannot  change  what  is  decided 
in  the  town  Junta.  We  all  know,  Donna  Elisa, 
that  the  town  Junta  cannot  take  back  anything.  If 
it  has  decided  that  your  cat  shall  hold  mass  in  the 
Cathedral,  it  cannot  change  it." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement  in  the  church. 
A  large  blind  man  came  in.  "Father  Elia!"  the 
people  whispered,  "Father  Elia!" 

Father  Elia  was  the  head  man  of  the  company  of 
blind  singers,  who  always  collected  there.  He  had 
long  white  hair  and  beard,  and  was  beautiful  as  one 
of  the  holy  patriarchs. 

He,  like  all  the  others,  went  forward  to  Father 
Succi.  He  sat  down  beside  him,  and  leaned  his 
head  against  the  coffin. 

Donna  Elisa  went  up  to  Father  Elia  and  spoke  to 
him.  "Father  Elia,"  she  said,  "you  ought  to  go  to 
the  syndic." 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  237 

The  old  man  recognized  Donna  Elisa's  voice,  and 
he  answered  her,  in  his  thick,  old-man's  tones:  — 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  have  waited  to  have  you 
say  that  to  me?  Don't  you  know  that  my  first 
thought  was  to  go  to  the  syndic?" 

He  spoke  with  such  a  hard  and  distinct  .voice  that 
the  workmen  stopped  hammering  and  listened, 
thinking  some  one  had  begun  to  preach. 

"I  told  him  that  we  blind  singers  are  a  company, 
and  that  the  Jesuits  opened  their  church  for  us  more 
than  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  gave  us  the  right 
to  gather  here  to  select  new  members  and  try  new 
songs. 

"And  I  said  to  him  that  there  are  thirty  of  us  in 
the  company;  and  that  the  holy  Lucia  is  our  patron- 
ess; and  that  we  never  sing  in  the  streets,  only  in 
courts  and  in  rooms;  and  that  we  sing  legends  of 
the  saints  and  mourning-songs,  but  never  a  wanton 
song;  and  that  the  Jesuit,  Father  Succi,  opened 
the  church  for  us,  because  the  blind  are  Our  Lord's 
singers. 

"I  told  him  that  some  of  us  are  recitatori,  who 
can  sing  the  old  songs,  but  others  are  trovatori,  who 
compose  new  ones.  I  said  to  him  that  we  give 
pleasure  to  many  on  the  noble  isle.  I  asked  him 
why  he  wished  to  deprive  us  of  life.  For  the  home- 
less cannot  live. 

"  I  said  to  him  that  we  wander  from  town  to  town 
through  all  Etna,  but  the  church  of  Lucia  is  our 
home,  and  mass  is  held  here  for  us  every  morning. 
Why  should  he  refuse  us  the  comfort  of  God's  word? 
"I  told  him  that  the  Jesuits  once  changed  their 
attitude  towards  us  and  wished  to  drive  us  away 
from  their  church,  but  they  did  not  succeed.  We 


238          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

received  a  letter  from  the  Viceroy  that  we  might 
hold  our  meetings  in  perpetuity  in  Santa  Lucia  in 
Gesu.  And  I  showed  him  the  letter." 

"What  did  he  answer?" 

"He  laughed  at  me." 

"  Can  none  of  the  other  gentlemen  help  you  ? " 

"I  have  been  to  them,  Donna  Elisa.  All  the 
morning  I  have  been  sent  from  Herod  to  Pilatus. " 

"Father  Elia,"  said  Donna  Elisa  with  lowered 
voice,  "have  you  forgotten  to  call  on  the  saints?  " 

"I  have  called  on  both  the  black  Madonna  and 
San  Sebastiano  and  Santa  Lucia.  I  have  prayed  to 
as  many  as  I  could  name." 

"Do  you  think,  Father  Elia,"  said  Donna  Elisa, 
and  lowered  her  voice  still  more,  "that  Don  Antonio 
Greco  was  helped,  because  he  promised  money  to 
Donna  Micaela's  railway?" 

"I  have  no  money  to  give,"  said  the  old  man, 
disconsolately. 

"Still,  you  ought  to  think  of  it,  Father  Elia/' 
said  Donna  Elisa,  "since  you  are  in  such  straits. 
You  ought  to  try  if,  by  promising  the  Christ-image 
that  you  yourself  and  all  who  belong  to  your  com- 
pany will  speak  and  sing  of  the  railway,  and  per- 
suade people  to  give  contributions  to  it,  you  may 
keep  your  church.  We  do  not  know  if  it  can  help, 
but  one  ought  to  try  every  possible  thing,  Father 
Elia.  It  costs  nothing  to  promise." 

"I  will  promise  anything  for  your  sake,"  said  the 
old  man. 

He  laid  his  old  blind  head  again  against  the  black 
coffin,  and  Donna  Elisa  understood  that  he  had 
given  the  promise  in  his  desire  to  be  left  in  peace 
with  his  sorrow. 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  239 

"Shall  I  present  your  vow  to  the  Christ-image?" 
she  said. 

"Do  as  you  will,  Donna  Elisa,"  said  the  old 
man. 

That  same  day  old  Fra  Felice  had  risen  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  begun  to  sweep  out  his 
church.  He  felt  quite  active  and  well;  but  while 
he  was  working  it  seemed  as  if  San  Pasquale,  sit- 
ting with  his  bag  of  stones  outside  the  church-door, 
had  something  to  say  to  him.  He  went  out,  but 
there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  San  Pasquale; 
quite  the  contrary.  Just  then  the  sun  glided  up  from 
behind  Etna,  and  down  the  dark  mountain-sides  the 
rays  came  hurrying,  many-colored  as  harp-strings. 
When  the  rays  reached  Fra  Felice's  old  church 
they  turned  it  rosy  red ;  rosy  red  were  also  the  old 
barbaric  pillars  that  held  up  the  canopy  over  the 
image,  and  San  Pasquale  with  his  bag  of  stones, 
and  Fra  Felice  himself.  "We  look  like  young 
boys,"  thought  the  old  man;  "we  have  still  long 
years  to  live." 

But  as  he  was  going  back  into  the  church,  he 
felt  a  sharp  pressure  at  his  heart,  and  it  came  into 
his  mind  that  San  Pasquale  had  called  him  out  to 
say  farewell.  At  the  same  time  his  legs  became  so 
heavy  that  he  could  hardly  move  them.  He  felt  no 
pain,  but  a  weariness  which  could  mean  nothing 
but  death.  He  was  scarcely  able  to  put  his  broom 
away  behind  the  door  of  the  sacristy;  then  he 
dragged  himself  up  the  choir,  lay  down  on  the  plat- 
form in  front  of  the  high  altar,  and  wrapped  his 
cloak  about  him. 

The  Christ-image  seemed  to  nod  to  him  and  say: 


240  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"  Now  I  need  you,  Fra  Felice."  He  lay  and  nod- 
ded back :  "  I  am  ready ;  I  shall  not  fail  you." 

It  was  only  to  lie  and  wait ;  and  it  was  beautiful, 
Fra  Felice  thought.  He  had  never  before  in  all  his 
life  had  time  to  feel  how  tired  he  was.  Now  at  last 
he  might  rest.  The  image  would  keep  up  the  church 
and  the  monastery  without  him. 

He  lay  and  smiled  at  the  thought  that  old  San  Pas- 
quale  had  called  him  out  to  say  good-morning  to  him. 

Fra  Felice  lay  thus  till  late  in  the  day,  and  dozed 
most  of  the  time.  No  one  was  with  him,  and  a  feel- 
ing came  over  him  that  it  would  not  do  to  creep  in 
this  way  out  of  life.  It  was  as  if  he  had  cheated 
somebody  of  something.  That  woke  him  time  after 
time.  He  ought  of  course  to  get  the  priests,  but  he 
had  no  one  to  send  for  them. 

While  he  lay  there  he  thought  that  he  shrank 
together  more  and  more.  Every  time  he  awoke  he 
thought  that  he  had  grown  smaller.  He  felt  as  if 
he  were  quite  disappearing.  Now  he  could  certainly 
wind  his  cloak  four  times  about  him. 

He  would  have  died  quite  by  himself  if  Donna 
Elisa  had  not  come  to  ask  help  for  the  blind  of  the 
little  image.  She  was  in  a  strange  mood  when  she 
came,  for  she  wished  of  course  to  get  help  for  the 
blind,  but  yet  she  did  not  wish  Donna  Micaela's 
plans  to  be  promoted. 

When  she  came  into  the  church  she  saw  Fra 
Felice  lying  on  the  platform  under  the  altar,  and 
she  went  forward  and  knelt  beside  him. 

Fra  Felice  turned  his  eyes  towards  her  and  smiled 
quietly.  "  I  am  going  to  die,"  he  said,  hoarsely  ; 
but  he  corrected  himself  and  said :  "  I  am  permitted 
to  die." 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  2\\ 

Donna  Elisa  asked  what  the  matter  was,  and  said 
that  she  would  fetch  help. 

"Sit  down  here,"  he  said,  and  made  a  feeble 
attempt  to  wipe  away  the  dust  on  the  platform  with 
his  sleeve. 

Donna  Elisa  said  that  she  wished  to  fetch  the 
priests  and  sisters  of  charity. 

He  seized  her  skirt  and  held  her  back. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  first,  Donna  Elisa." 

It  was  hard  for  him  to  talk,  and  he  breathed 
heavily  after  each  word.  Donna  Elisa  sat  down 
beside  him  and  waited. 

He  lay  for  a  while  and  panted;  then  a  flush  rose 
to  his  cheeks;  his  eyes  began  to  shine,  and  he  spoke 
with  ease  and  eagerness. 

"Donna  Elisa,"  said  Fra  Felice,  "I  have  a  legacy 
to  give  away.  It  has  troubled  me  all  day.  I  do 
not  know  to  whom  I  shall  give  it." 

"Fra  Felice,"  said  Donna  Elisa,  "do  not  concern 
yourself  with  such  a  thing.  There  is  no  one  who 
does  not  need  a  good  gift." 

But  now  when  Fra  Felice's  strength  had  returned, 
he  wished,  before  he  made  up  his  mind  about  the 
legacy,  to  tell  Donna  Elisa  how  good  God  had  been 
to  him. 

"  Has  not  God  been  great  in  his  grace  to  make 
me  ^.polacco  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  great  gift,"  said  Donna  Elisa. 

"Only  to  be  a  little,  little polacco  is  a  great  gift," 
said  Fra  Felice;  "it  is  especially  useful  since  the 
monastery  has  been  given  up,  and  when  my  com- 
rades are  gone  or  dead.  It  means  having  a  bag  full 
of  bread  before  one  even  stretches  out  one's  hand  to 
beg.  It  means  always  seeing  bright  faces,  and 

16 


242  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

being  greeted  with  deep  reverences.  I  know  no 
greater  gift  for  a  poor  monk,  Donna  Elisa." 

Donna  Elisa  thought  how  revered  and  loved  Fra 
Felice  had  been,  because  he  had  been  able  to  pre- 
dict what  numbers  would  come  out  in  the  lottery. 
And  she  could  not  help  agreeing  with  him. 

"  If  I  came  wandering  along  the  road  in  the  heat," 
said  Fra  .Felice,  "the  shepherd  came  to  me  and 
went  with  me  a  long  way,  and  held  his  umbrella 
over  me  as  shelter  against  the  sun.  And  when  I 
came  to  the  laborers  in  the  cool  stone-quarries,  they 
shared  their  bread  and  their  bean-soup  with  me.  I 
have  never  been  afraid  of  brigands  nor  of  carabinieri, 
The  official  at  the  custom-house  has  shut  his  eyes 
when  I  went  by  with  my  bag.  It  has  been  a  good 
gift,  Donna  Elisa." 

"True,  true,"  said  Donna  Elisa. 

"It  has  not  been  an  arduous  profession,"  said 
Fra  Felice.  "They  spoke  to  me,  and  I  answered 
them;  that  was  all.  They  knew  that  every  word 
has  its  number,  and  they  noticed  what  I  said  and 
played  accordingly.  I  never  knew  how  it  happened, 
Donna  Elisa;  it  was  a  gift  from  God." 

"You  will  be  a  great  loss  to  the  poor  people,  Fra 
Felice,"  said  Donna  Elisa. 

Fra  Felice  smiled.  "They  care  nothing  for  me 
on  Sunday  and  Monday,  when  there  has  just  been  a 
drawing,"  he  said.  "But  they  come  on  Thursday 
and  Friday  and  on  Saturday  morning,  because  there 
is  a  drawing  every  Saturday. " 

Donna  Elisa  began  to  be  anxious,  because  the 
dying  man  thought  of  nothing  but  that.  Suddenly 
there  flashed  across  her  memory  thoughts  of  one  and 
another  who  had  lost  in  the  lottery,  and  she  remenv 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  243 

bered  several  who  had  played  away  all  their  pros- 
perity. She  wished  to  turn  his  thoughts  from  that 
sinful  lottery  business. 

"  You  said  that  you  wished  to  speak  of  your  will, 
Fra  Felice." 

"  But  it  is  because  I  have  so  many  friends  that  it 
is  hard  for  me  to  know  to  whom  I  shall  give  the 
legacy.  Shall  I  give  it  to  those  who  have  baked 
sweet  cakes  for  me,  or  to  those  who  have  offered 
me  artichokes,  browned  in  sweet  oil?  Or  shall  I 
bequeath  it  to  the  sisters  of  charity  who  nursed  me 
when  I  was  ill  ?  " 

"  Have  you  much  to  give  away,  Fra  Felice?  " 
"  It  will  do,  Donna  Elisa.     It  will  do. " 
Fra   Felice   seemed   to   be  worse  again;  he  lay 
silent  with  panting  breast. 

"  I  had  also  wished  to  give  it  to  all  poor,  home- 
less monks,  who  had  lost  their  monasteries,"  he 
whispered. 

And  then  after  thinking  for  a  while:  "I  should 
also  have  liked  to  give  it  to  the  good  old  man  in 
Rome.     He,  you  know,  who  watches  over  us  all." 
"  Are  you  so  rich,  Fra  Felice?  "  said  Donna  Elisa 
"I  have  enough,  Donna  Elisa;  I  have  enough." 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and  rested  for  a  while;  then 
he  said :  — 

"  I  want  to  give  it  to  everybody,  Donna  Elisa." 
He    acquired   new   strength    at   the   thought;    a 
slight  flush  was  again  visible  in  his  cheeks,  and  he 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

"See  here,  Donna  Elisa,"  he  said,  while  he 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  cloak  and  drew  out  a  sealed 
envelope,  which  he  handed  to  her,  "you  shall  go  and 
give  this  to  the  syndic,  to  the  syndic  of  Diamante. 


244          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"Here,  Donna  Elisa,"  said  Fra  Felice,  "here  are 
the  five  numbers  that  win  next  Saturday.  They 
have  been  revealed  to  me,  and  I  have  written  them 
down.  And  the  syndic  shall  take  these  numbers 
and  have  them  fastened  up  on  the  Roman  Gate, 
where  everything  of  importance  is  published.  And 
he  shall  let  the  people  know  that  it  is  my  testament. 
I  bequeath  it  to  the  people.  Five  winning  num- 
bers, a  whole  quintern,  Donna  Elisa ! " 

Donna  Elisa  took  the  envelope  and  promised  to 
give  it  to  the  syndic.  She  could  do  nothing  else, 
for  poor  Fra  Felice  had  not  many  minutes  left  to 
live. 

"When  Saturday  comes,"  said  Fra  Felice,  "there 
will  be  many  who  will  think  of  Fra  Felice.  '  Can 
old  Fra  Felice  have  deceived  us  ? '  they  will  ask 
themselves.  '  Can  it  be  possible  for  us  to  win  the 
whole  quintern  ? ' 

"On  Saturday  evening  there  is  a  drawing  on  the 
balcony  of  the  town-hall  in  Catania,  Donna  Elisa. 
Then  they  carry  out  the  lottery-wheel  and  table, 
and  the  managers  of  the  lottery  are  there,  and  the 
pretty  little  poor-house  child.  And  one  number 
after  another  is  put  into  the  lucky  wheel  until  they 
are  all  there,  the  whole  hundred. 

"All  the  people  stand  below  and  tremble  in 
expectation,  as  the  sea  trembles  before  the  storm- 
wind. 

"Everybody  from  Diamante  will  be  there,  and 
they  will  stand  quite  pale  and  hardly  daring  to  look 
one  another  in  the  face.  Before,  they  have  believed, 
but  not  now.  Now  they  think  that  old  Fra  Felice 
has  deceived  them.  No  one  dares  to  cherish  the 
smallest  hope. 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  245 

"  Then  the  first  number  is  drawn,  and  I  was  right. 
Ah,  Donna  Elisa,  they  will  be  so  astonished  they 
will  scarcely  be  able  to  rejoice.  For  they  have  all 
expected  disappointment.  When  the  second  num- 
ber comes  out,  there  is  the  silence  of  death.  Then 
comes  the  third.  The  lottery  managers  will  be 
astonished  that  everything  is  so  quiet.  '  To-day 
they  are  not  winning  anything,'  they  will  say. 
'  To-day  the  state  has  all  the  prizes. '  Then  comes 
the  fourth  number.  The  poor-house  child  takes  the 
roll  from  the  wheel;  and  the  marker  opens  the  roll, 
and  shows  the  number.  Down  among  the  people  it 
is  almost  terrible ;  no  one  is  able  to  say  a  word  for 
joy.  Then  the  last  number  comes.  Donna  Elisa, 
the  people  scream,  they  cry,  they  fall  into  one 
another's  arms  and  sob.  They  are  rich.  All 
Diamante  is  rich  —  " 

Donna  Elisa  had  kept  her  arm  under  Fra  Felice's 
head  and  supported  him  while  he  had  panted  out  all 
this.  Suddenly  his  head  fell  heavily  back.  Old 
Fra  Felice  was  dead. 

While  Donna  Elisa  was  with  old  Fra  Felice,  many 
people  in  Diamante  had  begun  to  trouble  themselves 
about  the  blind.  Not  the  men ;  most  of  the  men 
were  in  the  fields  at  work;  but  the  women.  They 
had  come  in  crowds  to  Santa  Lucia  to  console  the 
blind,  and  finally,  when  about  four  hundred  women 
had  gathered  together,  it  occurred  to  them  to  go  and 
speak  to  the  syndic. 

They  had  gone  up  to  the  square  and  called  for 
the  syndic.  He  had  come  out  on  the  balcony  of 
the  town-hall,  and  they  had  prayed  for  the  blind. 
The  syndic  was  a  kind  and  handsome  man.  He  had 


246          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

answered  them  pleasantly,  but  had  not  been  willing 
to  yield.  He  could  not  repeal  what  had  been 
decided  in  the  town  Junta.  But  the  women  were 
determined  that  it  should  be  repealed,  and  they 
remained  in  the  square.  The  syndic  went  into  the 
town-hall  again,  but  they  stayed  in  the  square  and 
called  and  prayed.  They  did  not  intend  to  go  away 
till  he  yielded. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Donna  Elisa  came  to 
give  the  syndic  Fra  Felice's  testament.  She  was 
grieved  unto  death  at  all  the  misery,  but  at  the  same 
time  she  felt  a  bitter  satisfaction,  because  she  had 
received  no  help  from  the  Christchild.  She  had 
always  believed  that  the  saints  did  not  wish  to  help 
Donna  Micaela. 

It  was  a  fine  gift  she  had  received  in  San 
Pasquale's  church.  Not  only  could  it  not  help  the 
blind,  but  it  was  in  a  fair  way  to  ruin  the  whole 
town.  Now  what  little  the  people  still  possessed 
would  go  to  the  lottery  collector.  There  would  be 
a  borrowing  and  a  pawning. 

The  syndic  admitted  Donna  Elisa  immediately, 
and  was  as  calm  and  polite  as  always,  although  the 
women  were  calling  in  the  square,  the  blind  were 
bemoaning  themselves  in  the  waiting-room,  and 
people  had  run  in  and  out  of  his  room  all  day. 

"  How  can  I  be  at  your  service,  Signora  Antonelli  ? " 
he  said.  Donna  Elisa  first  looked  about  and  won- 
dered to  whom  he  was  speaking.  Then  she  told 
about  the  testament. 

The  syndic  was  neither  frightened  nor  surprised. 
"That  is  very  interesting,"  he  said,  and  stretched 
out  his  hand  for  the  paper. 

But    Donna    Elisa  held  the    envelope   fast    and 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  247 

asked:  "Signer  Sindaco,  what  do  you  intend  to 
do  with  it?  Do  you  intend  to  fasten  it  to  the  Roman 
Gate?" 

"Yes;  what  else  can  I  do,  signora?  It  is  a  dead 
man's  last  wish." 

Donna  Elisa  would  have  liked  to  tell  him  what 
a  terrible  testament  it  was,  but  she  checked  herself 
to  speak  of  the  blind. 

"  Padre  Succi,  who  directed  that  the  blind  should 
always  be  allowed  in  his  church,  is  also  a  dead  man," 
she  interposed. 

"  Signora  Antonelli,  are  you  beginning  with  that 
too?  "  said  the  syndic,  quite  kindly.  "  It  was  a  mis- 
take; but  why  did  no  one  tell  me  that  the  blind 
frequent  the  church  of  Lucia?  Now,  since  it  is 
decided,  I  cannot  annul  the  decision;  I  cannot." 

"  But  their  rights  and  patents,  Signer  Sindaco  ?  " 

"Their  rights  are  worth  nothing.  They  have 
to  do  with  the  Jesuits'  monastery,  but  there  is  no 
longer  such  a  monastery.  And  tell  me,  Signora 
Antonelli,  what  will  become  of  me  if  I  yield?" 

"The  people  will  love  you  as  a  good  man." 

"Signora,  people  will  believe  that  I  am  a  weak 
man,  and  every  day  I  shall  have  four  hundred 
laborers'  wives  outside  the  town-hall,  begging  now 
for  one  thing,  now  for  another.  It  is  only  to  hold 
out  for  one  day.  To-morrow  it  will  be  forgotten." 

"To-morrow!"  said  Donna  Elisa;  "we  shall 
never  forget  it." 

The  syndic  smiled,  and  Donna  Elisa  saw  that  he 
thought  that  he  knew  the  people  of  Diamante  much 
better  than  she. 

"You  think  that  their  hearts  are  in  it?"  he  said 

"I  think  so,  Signer  Sindaco." 


248  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Then  the  syndic  laughed  softly.  "  Give  me  that 
envelope,  Signora." 

He  took  it  and  went  out  on  the  balcony. 

He  began  to  speak  to  the  women.  "I  wish  to 
tell  you,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  just  now  heard  that 
old  Fra  Felice  is  dead,  and  that  he  has  left  a  legacy 
to  you  all.  He  has  written  down  five  numbers  that 
are  supposed  to  win  in  the  lottery  next  Saturday, 
and  he  bequeaths  them  to  you.  No  one  has  seen 
them  yet.  They  are  lying  here  in  this  envelope, 
and  it  is  unopened." 

He  was  silent  a  moment  to  let  the  women  have 
time  to  think  over  what  he  had  said. 

Instantly  they  began  to  cry:  "The  numbers,  the 
numbers ! " 

The  syndic  signed  to  them  to  be  silent. 

"You  must  remember,"  he  said,  "that  it  was 
impossible  for  Fra  Felice  to  know  what  numbers 
will  be  drawn  next  Saturday.  If  you  play  on  these 
numbers,  you  may  all  lose.  And  we  cannot  afford 
to  be  poorer  than  we  are  already  here  in  Diamante. 
I  ask  you  therefore  to  let  me  destroy  the  testament 
without  any  one  seeing  it." 

"The  numbers,"  cried  the  women,  "give  us  the 
numbers ! " 

"If  I  am  permitted  to  destroy  the  testament," 
said  the  syndic,  "  I  promise  you  that  the  blind  shall 
have  their  church  again. " 

There  was  silence  in  the  square.  Donna  Elisa 
rose  from  her  seat  in  the  hall  of  the  court- 
house and  seized  the  back  of  her  chair  with  both 
hands. 

"  I  leave  it  to  you  to  choose  between  the  church 
and  the  numbers,"  said  the  syndic. 


FRA   FELICE'S  LEGACY  249 

"God  in  heaven!"  sighed  Donna  Elisa,  "is  he  a 
devil  to  tempt  poor  people  in  such  a  way?" 

"We  have  been  poor  before,"  cried  one  of  the 
women,  "we  can  still  be  poor." 

"We  will  not  choose  Barabbas  instead  of  Christ," 
cried  another. 

The  syndic  took  a  match-box  from  his  pocket, 
lighted  a  match,  and  brought  it  slowly  up  to  the 
testament. 

The  women  stood  quiet  and  let  Fra  Felice's  five 
numbers  be  destroyed.  The  blind  people's  church 
was  saved. 

"It  is  a  miracle,"  whispered  old  Donna  Elisa; 
"they  all  believe  in  Fra  Felice,  and  they  let  his 
numbers  burn.  It  is  a  miracle." 

Later  in  the  afternoon  Donna  Elisa  again  sat  in 
her  shop  with  her  embroidery  frame.  She  looked 
old  as  she  sat  there,  and  there  was  something  shaken 
and  broken  about  her.  It  was  not  the  usual  Donna 
Elisa;  it  was  a  poor,  elderly,  forsaken  woman. 

She  drew  the  needle  slowly  through  the  cloth, 
and  when  she  wished  to  take  another  stitch  she 
was  uncertain  and  at  a  loss.  It  was  hard  for  her  to 
keep  the  tears  from  falling  on  her  embroidery  and 
spoiling  it. 

Donna  Elisa  was  in  such  great  grief  for  to-day  she 
had  lost  Gaetano  forever.  There  was  no  more  hope 
of  getting  him  back. 

The  saints  had  gone  over  to  the  side  of  the  oppo- 
nent,  and  worked  miracles  in  order  to  help  Donna 
Micaela.  No  one  could  doubt  that  a  miracle  had 
happened.  The  poor  women  of  Diamante  would 
never  have  been  able  to  stand  still  while  Fra  Felice's 


250          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

numbers  burned  if  they  had  not  been  bound  by  a 
miracle. 

It  made  a  poor  soul  so  old  and  cross  to  have  the 
good  saints  help  Donna  Micaela,  who  did  not  like 
Gaetano. 

The  door-bell  jingled  violently,  and  Donna  Elisa 
rose  from  old  habit.     It  was  Donna  Micaela.     She 
was  joyful,  and  came  toward  Donna  Elisa  with  out 
stretched   hands.     But   Donna   Elisa   turned  away, 
and  could  not  press  her  hand. 

Donna  Micaela  was  in  raptures.  "Ah,  Donna 
Elisa,  you  have  helped  my  railway.  What  can  I 
say?  How  shall  I  thank  you?  " 

"  Never  mind  about  thanking  me,  sister-in-law ! " 

"Donna  Elisa!" 

"  If  the  saints  wish  to  give  us  a  railway,  it  must 
be  because  Diamante  needs  it,  and  not  because  they 
love  you. " 

Donna  Micaela  shrank  back.  At  last  she  thought 
she  understood  why  Donna  Elisa  was  angry  with 
her.  "If  Gaetano  were  at  home,"  she  said.  She 
stood  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart  and  moaned. 
"  If  Gaetano  were  at  home  he  would  not  allow  you 
to  be  so  cruel  to  me." 

"  Gaetano?  —  would  not  Gaetano ? " 

"  No,  he  would  not.  Even  if  you  are  angry  with 
me  because  I  loved  him  while  my  husband  was  alive, 
you  would  not  dare  to  upbraid  me  for  it  if  he  were 
at  home. " 

Donna  Elisa  lifted  her  eyebrows  a  little.  "You 
think  that  he  could  prevail  upon  me  to  be  silent 
about  such  a  thing,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was 
very  strange. 

"But,  Donna   Elisa,"  Donna  Micaela  whispered 


FRA  FELICE'S  LEGACY  251 

in  her  ear,  "it  is  impossible,  quite  impossible  not 
to  love  him.  He  is  beautiful;  don't  you  know  it? 
And  he  subjugates  me,  and  I  am  afraid  of  him. 
You  must  let  me  love  him." 

"  Must  I  ? "  Donna  Elisa  kept  her  eyes  down  and 
spoke  quite  shortly  and  harshly. 

Donna  Micaela  was  beside  herself.  "It  is  I 
whom  he  loves,"  she  said.  "It  is  not  Giannita,  but 
me,  and  you  ought  to  consider  me  as  a  daughter; 
you  ought  to  help  me ;  you  ought  to  be  kind  to  me. 
And  instead  you  stand  against  me;  you  are  cruel 
to  me.  You  do  not  let  me  come  to  you  and  talk 
of  him.  However  much  I  long,  and  however  much 
I  work,  I  may  not  tell  you  of  it." 

Donna  Elisa  could  hold  out  no  longer.  Donna 
Micaela  was  nothing  but  a  child,  young  and  foolish 
and  quivering  like  a  bird's  heart, — just  one  to  be 
taken  care  of.  She  had  to  throw  her  arms  about 
her. 

"I  never  knew  it,  you  poor,  foolish  child,"  she 
said. 


252          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


VII 
AFTER  THE   MIRACLE 

THE  blind  singers  had  a  meeting  in  the  church  of 
Lucia.  Highest  up  in  the  choir  behind  the  altar 
sat  thirty  old,  blind,  men  on  the  carved  chairs  of 
the  Jesuit  fathers.  They  were  poor,  most  of  them ; 
most  of  them  had  a  beggar's  wallet  and  a  crutch 
beside  them. 

They  were  all  very  earnest  and  solemn ;  they  knew 
what  it  meant  to  be  members  of  that  holy  band  of 
singers,  of  that  glorious  old  Academy. 

Now  and  'then  below  in  the  church  a  subdued 
noise  was  audible.  The  blind  men's  guides  were 
sitting  there,  children,  dogs,  and  old  women,  wait- 
ing. Sometimes  the  children  began  to  romp  with 
one  another  and  with  the  dogs,  but  it  was  instantly 
suppressed  and  silenced. 

Those  of  the  blind  who  were  trovatori  stood  up 
one  after  another  and  spoke  new  verses. 

"You  people  who  live  on  holy  Etna,"  one  of  them 
recited,  "men  who  live  on  the  mountain  of  wonders, 
rise  up,  give  your  mistress  a  new  glory !  She  longs 
for  two  ribbons  to  heighten  her  beauty,  two  long, 
narrow  bands  of  steel  to  fasten  her  mantle.  Give 
them  to  your  mistress,  and  she  will  reward  you  with 
riches;  she  will  give  gold  for  steel.  Countless  are 
the  treasures  that  she  in  her  might  will  give  them 
who  assist  her. " 


AFTER   THE  MIRACLE  253 

"A  gentle  worker  of  miracles  has  come  among  us," 
said  another.  "  He  stands  poor  and  unnoticed  in  the 
bare  old  church,  and  his  crown  is  of  tin,  and  his  dia- 
monds of  glass.  *  Make  no  sacrifices  to  me,  O  ye 
poor,'  he  says;  '  build  me  no  temple,  all  ye  who  suf- 
fer. I  will  work  for  your  happiness.  If  prosperity 
shines  from  your  houses,  I  shall  shine  with  pre- 
cious stones;  if  want  flees  from  the  land,  my  feet 
will  be  clothed  in  golden  shoes  embroidered  with 
pearls. ' ' 

As  each  new  verse  was  recited,  it  was  accepted  or 
rejected.  The  blind  men  judged  with  great  severity. 

The  next  day  they  wandered  out  over  Etna,  and 
sang  the  railway  into  the  people's  hearts. 

After  the  miracle  of  Fra  Felice's  legacy,  people 
began  to  give  contributions  to  the  railway.  Donna 
Micaela  soon  had  collected  about  a  hundred  lire. 
Then  she  and  Donna  Elisa  made  the  journey  to 
Messina  to  look  at  the  steam-tram  that  runs  between 
Messina  and  Pharo.  They  had  no  greater  ambition  ; 
they  would  be  satisfied  with  a  steam-tram. 

"Why  does  a  railway  need  to  be  so  expensive?" 
said  Donna  Elisa.  "It  is  just  an  ordinary  road, 
although  people  do  lay  down  two  steel  rails  on  it. 
It  is  the  engineer  and  the  fine  gentlemen  who  make 
a  railway  expensive.  Don't  trouble  yourself  about 
engineers,  Micaela!  Let  our  good  road-builders, 
Giovanni  and  Carmelo,  build  your  railway." 

They  carefully  inspected  the  steam-tramway  to 
Pharo  and  brought  back  all  the  knowledge  they 
could.  They  measured  how  wide  it  ought  to  be 
between  the  rails,  and  Donna  Micaela  drew  on  a 
piece  of  paper  the  way  the  rails  ran  by  one  another 


254          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

at  the  stations.  It  was  not  so  difficult;  they  were 
sure  they  would  come  out  well. 

That  day  there  seemed  to  be  no  difficulties.  It 
was  as  easy  to  build  a  station  as  an  ordinary  house, 
they  said.  Besides,  more  than  two  stations  were  not 
needed ;  a  little  sentry-box  was  sufficient  at  most  of 
the  stopping-places. 

If  they  could  only  avoid  forming  a  company,  taking 
fine  gentlemen  into  their  service,  and  doing  things 
that  cost  money,  their  plan  of  the  railway  would  be 
realized.  It  would  not  cost  so  much.  The  ground 
they  could  certainly  get  free.  The  noble  gentlemen 
who  owned  the  land  on  Etna  would  of  course  under- 
stand how  much  use  of  the  railway  they  would  have, 
and  would  let  it  pass  free  of  charge  over  their  ground. 

They  did  not  trouble  themselves  to  stake  out  the 
line  beforehand.  They  were  going  to  begin  at 
Diamante  and  gradually  build  their  way  to  Catania. 
They  only  needed  to  begin  and  lay  a  little  piece 
every  day.  It  was  not  so  difficult. 

After  that  journey  they  began  the  attempt  to 
build  the  road  at  their  own  risk.  Don  Ferrante 
had  not  left  a  large  inheritance  to  Donna  Micaela, 
but  one  good  thing  that  he  had  bequeathed  her  was 
a  long  stretch  of  lava-covered  waste  land  off  on 
Etna.  Here  Giovanni  and  Carmelo  began  to  break 
ground  for  the  new  railway. 

When  the  work  began,  the  builders  of  the  railway 
possessed  only  one  hundred  lire.  It  was  the  miracle 
of  the  legacy  that  had  filled  them  with  holy  frenzy. 

What  a  railway  it  would  be,  what  a  railway ! 

The  blind  singers  were  the  share-collectors,  the 
Christ-image  gave  the  concession,  and  the  old  shop 
woman,  Donna  Elisa,  was  the  engineer. 


A   JETTATORE  255 


VIII 

A  JETTATORE 

IN  Catania  there  was  once  a  man  with  "the  evil 
eye,"  a  jettatore.  He  was  almost  the  most  terrible 
jcttatore  who  had  ever  lived  in  Sicily.  As  soon  as 
he  showed  himself  on  the  street  people  hastened  to 
bend  their  fingers  to  the  protecting  sign.  Often 
it  did  not  help  at  all;  whoever  met  him  could 
prepare  himself  for  a  miserable  day ;  he  would  find 
his  dinner  burned,  and  the  beautiful  old  jelly-bowl 
broken.  He  would  hear  that  his  banker  had  sus- 
pended payments,  and  that  the  little  note  that  he 
had  written  to  his  friend's  wife  had  come  into  the 
wrong  hands. 

Most  often  a  jettatore  is  a  tall,  thin  man,  with 
pale,  shy  eyes  and  a  long  nose,  which  overhangs  and 
hacks  his  upper  lip.  God  has  set  the  mark  of  a 
parrot's  beak  upon  the  jettatore.  Yet  all  things  are 
variable;  nothing  is  absolutely  constant.  This  jet- 
tatore  was  a  little  fellow  with  a  nose  like  a  San 
Michele. 

Thereby  he  did  much  more  harm  than  an  ordinary 
jettatore.  How  much  oftener  is  one  pricked  by  a 
rose  than  burned  by  a  nettle! 

A  jettatore  ought  never  to  grow  up.  He  is  well 
off  only  when  he  is  a  child.  Then  he  still  has  his 
little  mamma,  and  she  never  sees  the  evil  eye;  she 
never  understands  why  she  sticks  the  needle  into 


256          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

her  finger  every  time  he  comes  to  her  work-table. 
She  will  never  be  afraid  to  kiss  him.  Although  she 
has  sickness  constantly  in  the  house,  and  the  ser- 
vants leave,  and  her  friends  draw  away,  she  never 
notices  anything. 

But  after  \htjettatore  has  come  out  into  the  world, 
he  often  has  a  hard  time  enough.  Every  one  must 
first  of  all  think  of  himself;  no  one  can  ruin  his  life 
by  being  kind  to  &  jettatore. 

There  are  several  priests  who  are  jettatori.  There 
is  nothing  strange  in  that;  the  wolf  is  happy  if  he 
can  tear  to  pieces  many  sheep.  They  could  not 
very  well  do  more  harm  than  by  being  priests. 
One  need  only  ask  what  happens  to  the  chil- 
dren whom  he  baptizes,  and  the  couples  whom  he 
marries. 

The  jettatore  in  question  was  an  engineer  and 
wished  to  build  railways.  He  had  also  a  position 
in  one  of  the  state  railway  buildings.  The  state 
could  not  know  that  he  was  a  jettatore.  Ah,  but 
what  misery,  what  misery!  As  soon  as  he  obtained 
a  place  on  the  railway  a  number  of  accidents 
occurred.  When  they  tunnelled  through  a  hill,  one 
cave-in  after  another;  when  they  tried  to  lay  a 
bridge,  breach  upon  breach;  when  they  exploded  a 
blast,  the  workmen  were  killed  by  the  flying 
fragments. 

The  only  one  who  was  never  injured  was  the 
engineer,  the  jettatore. 

The  poor  fellows  working  under  him !  They 
counted  their  fingers  and  limbs  every  evening. 
"To-morrow  perhaps  we  will  have  lost  you,"  they 
said. 

They  informed  the  chief  engineer;  they  informed 


A   JETTATORE 

the  minister.  Neither  of  them  would  listen  to  the 
complaint.  They  were  too  sensible  and  too  learned 
to  believe  in  the  evil  eye.  The  workmen  ought  to 
mind  better  what  they  were  about.  It  was  their 
own  fault  that  they  met  with  accidents. 

And  the  gravel-cars  tipped  over;  the  locomotive 
exploded. 

One  morning  there  was  a  rumor  that  the  engineer 
was  gone.  He  had  disappeared;  no  one  knew  what 
had  become  of  him.  Had  some  one  perhaps  stabbed 
him  ?  Oh,  no;  oh,  no !  would  any  one  have  dared  to 
kill  zjettatore? 

But  he  was  really  gone;  no  one  ever  saw  him 
again. 

It  was  a  few  years  later  that  Donna  Micaela  began 
to  think  of  building  her  railway.  And  in  order  to 
get  money  for  it,  she  wished  to  hold  a  bazaar  in  the 
great  Franciscan  monastery  outside  Diamante. 

There  was  a  cloister  garden  there,  surrounded 
by  splendid  old  pillars.  Donna  Micaela  arranged 
little  booths,  little  lotteries,  and  little  places  of 
diversion  under  the  arcades.  She  hung  festoons  of 
Venetian  lanterns  from  pillar  to  pillar.  She  piled 
up  great  kegs  of  Etna  wine  around  the  cloister 
fountain. 

While  Donna  Micaela  worked  there  she  often 
conversed  with  little  Gandolfo,  who  had  been  made 
watchman  at  the  monastery  since  Fra  Felice's 
death. 

One  day  she  made  Gandolfo  show  her  the  whole 
monastery.  She  went  through  it  all  from  attic  to 
cellar,  and  when  she  saw  those  countless  little  cells 
with  their  grated  windows  and  whitewashed  walls 
and  hard  wooden  scats,  she  had  an  idea. 

'7 


25 8  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  asked  Gandolfo  to  shut  her  in  in  one  of  the 
cells  and  to  leave  her  there  for  the  space  of  five 
minutes. 

"Now  I  am  a  prisoner,"  she  said,  when  she  was 
left  alone.  She  tried  the  door;  she  tried  the 
window.  She  was  securely  shut  in. 

So  that  was  what  it  was  to  be  a  prisoner !  Four 
empty  walls  about  one,  the  silence  of  the  grave,  and 
the  chill. 

"Now  I  can  feel  as  a  prisoner  feels,"  she 
thought. 

Then  she  forgot  everything  else  in  the  thought 
that  possibly  Gandolfo  might  not  come  to  let  her 
out  He  could  be  called  away;  he  could  be  taken 
suddenly  ill;  he  could  fall  and  kill  himself  in  some 
of  the  dark  passage-ways.  Many  things  could  hap- 
pen to  prevent  him  from  coming. 

No  one  knew  where  she  was ;  no  one  would  think 
of  looking  for  her  in  that  out-of-the-way  cell.  If 
she  were  left  there  for  even  an  hour  she  would  go 
mad  with  terror. 

She  saw  before  her  starvation,  slow  starvation. 
She  struggled  through  interminable  hours  of  anguish. 
Ah,  how  she  would  listen  for  a  step;  how  she  would 
call! 

She  would  shake  the  door;  she  would  scrape  the 
masonry  of  the  walls  with  her  nails ;  she  would  bite 
the  grating  with  her  teeth. 

When  they  finally  found  her  she  would  be  lying 
dead  on  the  floor,  and  they  would  find  everywhere 
traces  of  how  she  had  tried  to  break  her  way  out. 

Why  did  not  Gandolfo  come?  Now  she  must 
have  been  there  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  a  half-hour. 
Why  did  he  not  come? 


A   JETTATORE  2$$ 

She  was  sure  that  she  had  been  shut  in  a  whole 
hour  when  Gandolfo  came.  Where  had  he  been 
such  a  long  time? 

He  had  not  been  long  at  all.  He  had  only  been 
away  five  minutes. 

"God!  God!  so  that  is  being  a  prisoner;  that  is 
Gaetano's  life ! "  She  burst  into  tears  when  she  saw 
the  open  sky  once  more  above  her. 

A  while  later,  as  they  stood  out  on  an  open  loggia, 
Gandolfo  showed  her  a  couple  of  windows  with 
shutters  and  green  shades. 

"  Does  any  one  live  there?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Donna  Micaela,  some  one  does." 

Gandolfo  told  her  that  a  man  lived  there  who 
never  went  out  except  at  night,  —  a  man  who  never 
spoke  to  any  one." 

"Is  he  crazy?  "  asked  Donna  Micaela. 

"No,  no;  he  is  as  much  in  his  right  mind  as  you 
or  I.  But  people  say  that  he  has  to  conceal  him- 
self. He  is  afraid  of  the  government." 

Donna  Micaela  was  much  interested  in  the  man. 
"What  is  his  name?"  she  said. 

"I  call  him  Signer  Alfredo." 

"  How  does  he  get  any  food  ? "  she  asked. 

"I  prepare  it  for  him,"  said  Gandolfo. 

"And  clothes?" 

"  I  get  them  for  him.  I  bring  him  books  and 
newspapers,  too." 

Donna  Micaela  was  silent  for  a  while.  "  Gandolfo, " 
she  said,  and  gave  him  a  rose  which  she  held  in  her 
hand,  "  lay  this  on  the  tray  the  next  time  you  take 
food  to  your  poor  prisoner." 

After  that  Donna  Micaela  sent  some  little  thing 
almost  every  day  to  the  man  in  the  monastery.  It 


260          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

might  be  a  flower,  a  book  or  some  fruit.  It  was 
her  greatest  pleasure.  She  amused  herself  with  her 
fancies.  She  almost  succeeded  in  imagining  that 
she  was  sending  all  these  things  to  Gaetano. 

When  the  day  for  the  bazaar  came,  Donna  Micaela 
was  in  the  cloister  early  in  the  morning.  "  Gandolfo  " 
she  said,  "you  must  go  up  to  your  prisoner  and 
ask  him  if  he  will  come  to  the  entertainment  this 
evening." 

Gandolfo  soon  came  back  with  the  answer.  "He 
thanks  you  very  much,  Donna  Micaela,"  said  the 
boy.  "He  will  come." 

She  was  surprised,  for  she  had  not  believed  that 
he  would  venture  out.  She  had  only  wished  to 
show  him  a  kindness. 

Something  made  Donna  Micaela  look  up.  She 
was  standing  in  the  cloister  garden,  and  a  window 
was  thrown  open  in  one  of  the  buildings  above  her. 
Donna  Micaela  saw  a  middle-aged  man  of  an  attrac- 
tive appearance  standing  up  there  and  looking  down 
at  her. 

"There  he  is,  Donna  Micaela,"  said  Gandolfo. 

She  was  happy.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  redeemed 
and  saved  the  man.  And  it  was  more  than  that. 
People  who  have  no  imagination  will  not  under- 
stand it.  But  Donna  Micaela  trembled  and  longed 
all  day ;  she  considered  how  she  would  be  dressed. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  expected  Gaetano. 

Donna  Micaela  soon  had  something  else  to  do 
than  to  dream;  the  livelong  day  a  succession  of 
calamities  streamed  over  her. 

The  first  was  a  communication  from  the  old  Etna 
brigand,  Falco  Falcone :  — 


A   JETTATORE  2M 

DEAR  FRIEND,  DONNA  MICAELA,  —  As  I  have  heard  that 
you  intend  to  build  a  railway  along  Etna,  I  wish  to  tell  you 
that  with  my  consent  it  will  never  be.  I  tell  you  this  now 
so  that  you  need  not  waste  any  more  money  and  trouble  on 
the  matter. 

Enlightened  and  most  nobly  born  signora,  T  remain 
Your  humble  servant, 

FALCO  FALCONE. 

Passafiero,  my  sister's  son,  has  written  this  letter. 

Donna  Micaela  flung  the  dirty  letter  away.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  it  were  the  death  sentence  of  the 
railway,  but  to-day  she  would  not  think  of  it.  Now 
she  had  her  bazaar. 

The  moment  after,  her  road-builders,  Giovanni 
and  Carmelo,  appeared.  They  wished  to  counsel 
her  to  get  an  engineer.  She  probably  did  not  know 
what  kind  of  ground  there  was  on  Etna.  There 
was,  first,  lava;  then  there  was  ashes;  and  then  lava 
again.  Should  the  road  be  laid  on  the  top  layer  of 
lava,  or  on  the  bed  of  ashes,  or  should  they  dig  down 
still  deeper?  About  how  firm  a  foundation  did  a 
railway  need?  They  could  not  go  ahead  without  a 
man  who  understood  that. 

Donna  Micaela  dismissed  them.  To-morrow,  to- 
morrow; she  had  no  time  to  think  of  it  to-day. 

Immediately  after,  Donna  Elisa  came  with  a  still 
worse  piece  of  news. 

There  was  a  quarter  in  Diamante  where  a  poverty- 
stricken  and  wild  people  lived.  Those  poor  souls 
had  been  frightened  when  they  heard  of  the  railway. 
"There  will  be  an  eruption  of  Etna  and  an  earth- 
quake,"  they  had  said.  Great  Etna  will  endure  no 
fetters.  It  will  shake  off  the  whole  railway.  And 


262  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

people  said  now  that  they  ought  to  go  out  and  tear 
up  the  track  as  soon  as  a  rail  was  laid  on  it. 

A  day  of  misfortune,  a  day  of  misfortune !  Donna 
Micaela  felt  farther  from  her  object  than  ever. 

"  What  is  the  good  of  our  collecting  money  at  our 
bazaar?"  she  said  despondingly. 

The  day  promised  ill  for  her  bazaar.  In  the  after- 
noon it  began  to  rain.  It  had  not  rained  so  in 
Diamante  since  the  day  when  the  clocks  rang.  The 
clouds  sank  to  the  very  house-roofs,  and  the  water 
poured  down  from  them.  People  were  wet  to  the 
skin  before  they  had  been  two  minutes  in  the  street. 
Towards  six  o'clock,  when  Donna  Micaela's  bazaar 
was  to  open,  it  was  raining  its  very  hardest.  When 
she  came  out  to  the  monastery,  there  was  no  one 
there  but  those  who  were  to  help  in  serving  and 
selling. 

She  felt  ready  to  cry.  Such  an  unlucky  day! 
What  had  dragged  down  all  these  adversities  upon 
her? 

Donna  Micaela's  glance  fell  on  a  strange  man  who 
was  leaning  against  a  pillar,  watching  her.  Now 
all  at  once  she  recognized  him.  He  was  the  jet- 
tatore  —  ihejettatore  from  Catania,  whom  people  had 
taught  her  to  fear  as  a  child. 

Donna  Micaela  went  quickly  over  to  him.  "  Come 
with  me,  signer,"  she  said,  and  went  before  him. 
She  wished  to  go  so  far  away  that  no  one  should 
hear  them,  and  then  she  wished  to  beg  of  him  never 
to  come  before  her  eyes  again.  She  could  do  no 
less.  He  must  not  ruin  her  whole  life. 

She  did  not  think  in  what  direction  she  went. 
Suddenly  she  was  at  the  door  of  the  monastery 
church  and  turned  in  there. 


A   J 'ETTA TO RE  263 

Within,  it  was  almost  dark.  Only  by  the  Christ- 
image  a  little  oil  lamp  was  burning. 

When  Donna  Micaela  saw  the  Christ-image  she 
was  startled.  Just  then  she  had  not  wished  to  see 
him. 

He  reminded  her  of  the  time  when  his  crown  had 
rolled  to  Gaetano's  feet,  when  he  had  been  so  angry 
with  the  brigands.  Perhaps  the  Christ-image  did 
not  wish  her  to  drive  away  the  jettatore. 

She  had  good  reason  to  fear  the  jettatore.  It  was 
wrong  of  him  to  come  to  her  entertainment;  she 
must  somehow  be  rid  of  him. 

Donna  Micaela  had  gone  on  through  the  whole 
church,  and  now  stood  and  looked  at  the  Christ- 
image.  She  could  not  say  a  word  to  the  man  who 
followed  her. 

She  remembered  what  sympathy  she  had  lately 
felt  for  him,  because  a  prisoner,  like  Gaetano.  She 
had  been  so  happy  that  she  had  tempted  him  out  to 
life.  What  did  she  now  wish  to  do?  Did  she  wish 
to  send  him  back  to  captivity? 

She  remembered  both  her  father  and  Gaetano. 
Should  this  man  be  the  third  that  she  — 

She  stood  silent  and  struggled  with  herself.  At 
last  the  jettatore  spoke:  — 

"  Well,  signora,  is  it  not  true  that  now  you  have 
had  enough  of  me  ?  " 

Donna  Micaela  made  a  negative  gesture. 

"  Do  you  not  desire  me  to  return  to  my  cell  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  signer." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  understand.  Something  terrible 
has  happened  to  you  to-day.  You  do  not  look  as 
you  did  this  morning." 

"I  am  very  tired,"  said  Donna  Micaela,  evasively. 


264         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

The  man  came  close  up  to  her  as  if  to  force  out 
the  truth.  Questions  and  answers  flew  short  and 
panting  between  them. 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  all  your  festival  is  likely  to 
be  a  failure?"  —  "I  must  arrange  it  again  to- 
morrow."—  "Have  you  not  recognized  me?"  — 
"Yes,  I  have  seen  you  before  in  Catania."  —  "And 
you  are  not  afraid  of  the  jettatore?"  —  "Yes, 
formerly,  as  a  child."  —  "  But  now,  now  are  you  not 
afraid  ?  "  She  avoided  answering  him.  "  Are  you 
yourself  afraid?  "  she  said.  "  Speak  the  truth !"  he 
said,  impatiently.  "What  did  you  wish  to  say  to 
me  when  you  brought  me  here  ? " 

She  looked  anxiously  about  her.  She  had  to  say 
something;  she  must  have  something  to  answer  him. 
Then  a  thought  occurred  to  her  which  seemed  to 
her  quite  terrible.  She  looked  at  the  Christ-image. 
"  Do  you  require  it  ?  "  she  seemed  to  ask  him.  "  Shall 
I  do  it  for  this  strange  man?  But  it  is  throwing 
away  my  only  hope." 

"  I  hardly  know  whether  I  dare  to  speak  of  what 
I  wish  of  you,"  she  said.  "No,  you  see;  you  do 
not  dare."  —  "I  intend  to  build  a  railway;  you  know 
that?"— "Yes,  I  know."  — "I  want  you  to  help 
me."  — "I?" 

Now  that  she  had  made  a  beginning,  it  was  easier 
for  her  to  continue.  She  was  surprised  that  her 
words  sounded  so  natural. 

"I  know  that  you  are  a  railroad  builder.  Yes, 
you  understand  of  course  that  with  my  railroad  no 
pay  is  given.  But  it  would  be  better  for  you  to 
help  me  work  than  to  sit  shut  in  here.  You  are 
making  no  use  of  your  time." 

He    looked    at    her    almost    sternly.     "Do  you 


A   JETTATORE  26$ 

know  what  you  are  saying?  "  —  "  It  is  of  course  a 
presumptuous  request."  —  "Just  so,  yes,  a  presump- 
tuous request." 

Thereupon  the  poor  man  began  to  try  to  terrify 
her. 

"  It  will  go  with  your  railway  as  with  your  festi- 
val."  Donna  Micaela  thought  so  too,  but  now  she 
thought  that  she  had  closed  all  ways  of  escape  for 
herself ;  now  she  must  go  on  being  good.  "  My 
festival  will  soon  be  in  full  swing,"  she  said 
calmly. 

"Listen  to  me,  Donna  Micaela,"  said  the  man. 
"  The  last  thing  a  man  ceases  to  believe  good  of  is 
himself.  No  one  can  cease  to  have  hope  for  him- 
self." 

"No;  why  should  he?" 

He  made  a  movement  as  if  he  were  impatient 
with  her  confidence. 

"When  I  first  began  to  think  about  the  thing,"  he 
said,  "  I  was  easily  consoled.  '  There  have  been  a 
few  unfortunate  occurrences, '  I  said  to  myself,  '  so 
you  have  the  reputation,  and  it  has  become  a  belief. 
It  is  the  belief  that  has  made  the  trouble.  People 
have  met  you,  and  people  have  believed  that  they 
would  come  to  grief,  and  come  to  grief  they  did. 
It  is  a  misfortune  worse  than  death  to  be  considered 
zjettatore,  but  you  need  not  yourself  believe  it. '  " 

"It  is  so  absurd,"  said  Donna  Micaela. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  whence  should  my  eyes  have 
got  the  power  to  bring  misfortune?  And  when  I 
thought  of  it  I  determined  to  make  a  trial.  I 
travelled  to  a  place  where  no  one  knew  me.  The 
next  day  I  read  in  the  paper  that  the  train  on  which 
I  had  travelled  had  run  over  a  flagman.  When  I 


266          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

had  been  one  day  in  the  hotel,  I  saw  the  landlord  in 
despair,  and  all  the  guests  leaving.  What  had  hap- 
pened ?  I  asked.  '  One  of  our  servants  has  been 
taken  with  small-pox.'  Ah,  what  a  wretched 
business! 

"  Well,  Donna  Micaela,  I  shut  myself  in  and  drew 
back  from  all  intercourse  with  people.  When  a 
year  had  passed  I  had  found  peace.  I  asked  myself 
why  I  was  shut  in  so.  '  You  are  a  harmless  man,'  I 
said;  'you  wish  to  hurt  no  one.  Why  do  you  live 
as  miserably  as  a  criminal  ? '  I  had  just  meant  to  go 
back  to  life  again,  when  I  met  Fra  Felice  in  one  of 
the  passages.  'Fra  Felice,  where  is  the  cat  ? '  — '  The 
cat,  signer? '  — '  Yes,  the  monastery  cat,  that  used  to 
come  and  get  milk  from  me;  where  is  he  now? '  — <- 
'  He  was  caught  in  a  rat-trap. '  —  '  What  do  you  say, 
Fra  Felice? '  — '  He  got  his  paw  in  a  steel  trap  and 
he  could  not  get  loose.  He  dragged  himself  to  one 
of  the  garrets  and  died  of  starvation. '  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  Donna  Micaela?" 

"Was  it  supposed  to  be  your  fault  that  the  cat 
died?" 

"I  am  ^.jettatore" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.     "Ah,  what  folly!" 

"When  some  time  had  passed,  again  the  desire 
to  live  awoke  within  me.  Then  Gandolfo  knocked 
on  my  door,  and  invited  me  to  your  festival.  Why 
should  I  not  go?  It  is  impossible  to  believe  that 
one  brings  misfortune  only  by  showing  one's  self. 
It  was  a  festival  in  itself,  Donna  Micaela,  only  to 
get  ready  and  to  take  out  one's  black  clothes,  brush 
them,  and  put  them  on.  But  when  I  came  down  to 
the  scene  of  the  festival,  it  was  deserted;  the  rain 
streamed  in  torrents;  your  Venetian  lanterns  were 


A   JETTATORE  267 

filled  with  water.  And  you  yourself  looked  as  if 
you  had  suffered  all  life's  misfortunes  in  a  single 
day.  When  you  looked  at  me  you  became  ashy 
gray  with  terror.  I  asked  some  one :  '  What  was 
Signora  Alagona's  maiden  name? '  —  '  Palmeri. '  — • 
'Ah,  Palmeri;  so  she  is  from  Catania.  She  has 
recognized  the  jcttalore, 

"Yes,  it  is  true;  I  recognized  you." 

"You  have  been  very  friendly,  very  kind,  and  I 
am  distressed  to  have  spoiled  your  festival.  But 
now  I  promise  you  that  I  shall  keep  away  both  from 
your  entertainment  and  your  railway." 

"  Why  should  you  keep  away  ?  " 

"  I  am  &  jettatore. " 

"I  do  not  believe  it.     I  cannot  believe  it." 

"I  do  not  believe  it  either.  Yes,  yes,  I  believe. 
Do  you  see,  people  say  that  no  one  can  have  power 
over  a  jettatore  who  is  not  as  great  in  evil  as  he. 
Once,  they  say,  a  jettatore  looked  at  himself  in  the 
glass,  and  then  fell  down  and  died.  Well,  I  never 
look  at  myself  in  the  glass.  Therefore  I  believe  it." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  think  I  almost  believed 
it  when  I  saw  you  out  there.  Now  I  do  not  believe 
it." 

"Perhaps  you  will  let  me  work  on  your  railway?" 

"Yes,  yes,  if  you  only  will." 

He  came  again  close  up  to  her,  and  they  exchanged 
a  few  short  sentences.  "  Come  forward  to  the 
light ;  I  wish  to  see  your  face !  "  —  "  You  think  that 
I  am  dissembling."  —  "I  think  that  you  are  polite." 
—  "  Why  should  I  be  polite  to  you  ?  "  —  "  That  rail- 
way means  something  to  you?"  —  "It  means  life 
and  happiness  to  me. "  —  "  How  is  that  ?  "  —  "  It  will 
win  one  who  is  dear  to  me. "  —  "  Very  dear  ? " 


268          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  did  not  reply,  but  he  read  the  answer  in  her 
face. 

He  bent  his  knee  to  her,  and  sank  his  head  so 
low  that  he  could  kiss  the  hem  of  her  dress.  "  You 
are  good ;  you  are  very  good.  I  shall  never  forget  it. 
If  I  were  not  who  I  am,  how  I  would  serve  you ! " 

"  You  shall  serve  me,"  she  said.  And  she  was  so 
moved  by  his  misfortunes  that  she  felt  no  more 
fear  of  his  injuring  her. 

He  sprang  up.  "  I  will  tell  you  something.  You 
cannot  go  across  the  floor  without  stumbling  if  I 
look  at  you." 

"Oh!"  she  said. 

"Try!" 

And  she  tried.  She  was  very  much  frightened, 
and  had  never  felt  so  unsteady  as  when  she  took 
her  first  step.  Then  she  thought:  "If  it  were 
for  Gaetano's  sake,  I  could  do  it."  And  then  it 
was  easy. 

She  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  church  floor.  "  Shall 
I  do  it  again  ?  "  He  nodded. 

As  she  was  walking,  the  thought  flashed  through 
her  brain:  "The  Christchild  has  taken  the  curse 
from  him,  because  he  is  to  help  me."  She  turned 
suddenly  and  came  back  to  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  do  you  know  ?  you  are  nojetfatoref  " 

"Am  I  not?" 

"  No,  no !  "  She  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
shook  him.  "Do  you  not  see?  do  you  not  under- 
stand? It  is  taken  from  you." 

Little  Gandolfo's  voice  was  heard  in  the  path 
outside  the  church.  "  Donna  Micaela,  Donna  Micaela, 
where  are  you  ?  There  are  so  many  people,  Donna 
Micaela.  Do  you  hear;  do  you  hear?  " 


A   JETTATORE  269 

"Is  it  no  longer  raining?"  said  the  jcttatore,  in 
an  uncertain  voice. 

"It  is  not  raining;  how  could  it  be  raining?  The 
Christ-image  has  taken  the  curse  from  you  because 
you  are  going  to  work  for  his  railway." 

The  man  reeled  and  grasped  at  the  air  with  his 
hands.  "  It  is  gone.  Yes,  I  think  it  is  gone.  Just 
now  it  was  there.  But  now  —  " 

He  wished  again  to  fall  on  his  knees  before 
Donna  Micaela. 

"Not  to  me,"  she  said;  "to  him,  to  him."  She 
pointed  to  the  Christ-image. 

But  nevertheless  he  fell  down  before  her.  He 
kissed  her  hands,  and  with  a  voice  broken  by  sobs 
he  told  her  how  every  one  had  hated  and  persecuted 
him,  and  how  much  misery  life  had  brought  him 
hitherto. 

The  next  day  the  jettatore  went  out  on  Etna  and 
staked  out  the  road.  And  he  was  no  more  dangerous 
than  any  one  else. 


2/0          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


IX 

PALAZZO  GERACI  AND   PALAZZO  CORVAJA 

AT  the  time  when  the  Normans  ruled  in  Sicily,  long 
before  the  family  of  Alagona  had  come  to  the  island, 
the  two  magnificent  buildings,  Palazzo  Geraci  and 
Palazzo  Corvaja,  were  built  in  Diamante. 

The  noble  Barons  Geraci  placed  their  house  in 
the  square,  high  up  on  the  summit  of  Monte  Chiaro. 
The  Barons  Corvaja,  on  the  other  hand,  built  their 
home  far  down  the  mountain  and  surrounded  it  with 
gardens. 

The  black-marble  walls  of  Palazzo  Geraci  were 
built  round  a  square  courtyard,  full  of  charm  and 
beauty.  A  long  flight  of  steps,  passing  under  an 
arch  adorned  with  an  escutcheon,  led  to  the  second 
story.  Not  entirely  round  the  courtyard,  but  here 
and  there  in  the  most  unexpected  places,  the  walls 
opened  into  little  pillared  loggias.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  bas-reliefs,  with  speckled  slabs  of 
Sicilian  marble  and  with  the  coats  of  arms  of  the 
Geraci  barons.  There  were  windows  also,  very 
small,  but  with  exquisitely  carved  frames;  some 
round,  with  panes  so  small  that  they  could  be  cov- 
ered with  a  grape  leaf ;  some  oblong,  and  so  narrow 
that  they  let  in  no  more  light  than  a  slit  in  a 
curtain. 

The  Barons  Corvaja  did  not  try  to  adorn  the 
courtyard  of  their  palace,  but  on  the  lower  floor  of 


PALAZZO  GERACI— PALAZZO  CORVAJA     2/1 

the  house  they  fitted  up  a  magnificent  hall.  In  the 
floor  was  built  a  basin  for  gold-fish;  in  niches  in  the 
walls  fountains  covered  with  mosaic,  in  which  clear 
water  spouted  into  gigantic  shells.  Over  it  all,  a 
Moorish  vaulted  roof,  supported  on  slender  pillars, 
with  twining  vines  in  mosaic.  It  was  a  hall  whose 
equal  is  only  to  be  seen  in  the  Moorish  palace  in 
Palermo. 

There  was  much  rivalry  and  emulation  during  all 
the  time  of  building.  When  Palazzo  Geraci  put 
forth  a  balcony,  Palazzo  Corvaja  acquired  its  high 
Gothic  bay-windows;  when  the  roof  of  Palazzo 
Geraci  was  adorned  with  richly  carved  battlements, 
a  frieze  of  black  marble,  inlaid  with  white  a  yard 
wide,  appeared  on  Palazzo  Corvaja.  The  Geraci 
house  was  crowned  by  a  high  tower;  the  Corvaja 
had  a  roof  garden,  with  antique  pots  along  the 
railing. 

When  the  palaces  were  finished  the  rivalry  began 
between  the  families  who  had  built  them.  The 
houses  seemed  to  breed  hostility  and  strife  for  all 
who  lived  in  them.  A  Baron  Geraci  could  never 
agree  with  a  Baron  Corvaja.  When  Geraci  fought 
for  Anjou,  Corvaja  fought  for  Manfred.  If  Geraci 
changed  sides,  and  supported  Aragoni,  Corvaja  went 
to  Naples,  and  fought  for  Robert  and  Joanna. 

But  that  was  not  all.  It  was  an  understood  thing 
that  when  Geraci  found  a  son-in-law,  Corvaja  had  to 
increase  his  power  by  a  rich  marriage.  Neither  of 
the  families  could  rest.  They  had  to  vie  with  each 
other  while  eating,  while  amusing  themselves,  while 
working.  The  Geraci  came  to  the  court  of  the 
Bourbons  in  Naples,  not  out  of  desire  of  distinction, 
but  because  the  Corvaja  were  there.  The  Corvaja 


2/2  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

on  the  other  hand  had  to  grow  grapes  and  mine 
sulphur,  because  the  Geraci  were  interested  in  agri- 
culture and  the  working  of  mines.  When  a  Geraci 
received  an  inheritance  some  old  relative  of  the 
Corvaja  had  to  lie  down  and  die,  so  that  the  honor 
of  the  family  should  not  be  hazarded. 

Palazzo  Geraci  was  always  kept  busy  counting  its  ser- 
vants, in  order  not  to  let  Palazzo  Corvaja  lead.  But 
not  only  the  servants,  but  the  braid  on  the  caps,  the 
harnesses  and  the  horses.  The  pheasant  feather  on 
the  heads  of  the  Corvaja  leaders  must  not  be  an  inch 
higher  than  that  on  the  Geraci.  Their  goats  must 
increase  in  the  same  proportion,  and  the  Geraci's 
oxen  must  have  just  as  long  horns  as  the  Corvaja's. 

In  our  time  one  might  have  expected  an  end  to 
the  enmity  between  the  two  palaces.  In  our  time 
there  are  just  as  few  Corvaja  in  the  one  palace  as 
there  are  Geraci  in  the  other. 

The  Geraci  courtyard  is  now  a  dirty  hole,  which 
contains  donkey-stalls  and  pig-styes  and  chicken 
houses.  On  the  high  steps  rags  are  dried  and  the 
bas-reliefs  are  broken  and  mouldy.  In  one  of  the 
passage-ways  a  trade  in  vegetables  is  carried  on,  and 
in  the  other  shoes  are  made.  The  gate-keeper  looks 
like  the  most  ragged  of  beggars,  and  from  cellar  to 
attic  live  none  but  poor  and  penniless  people. 

It  is  no  better  in  Palazzo  Corvaja.  There  is  not 
a  vestige  of  the  mosaic  left  in  the  big  hall;  only 
bare,  empty  arches.  No  beggars  live  there,  because 
the  palace  is  principally  in  ruins.  It  no  longer 
raises  its  beautiful  facade  with  the  carved  windows 
to  the  bright  Sicilian  sky. 

But  the  enmity  between  Geraci  and  Corvaja  is  not 
over.  In  the  old  days  it  was  not  only  the  noble 


PALAZZO  GERACI— PALAZZO  CORVAJA     2/3 

families  themselves  who  competed  with  one  another; 
it  was  also  their  neighbors  and  dependents.  All 
Diamante  is  to  this  day  divided  into  Geraci  and 
Corvaja.  There  is  still  a  high,  loop-holed  wall  run- 
ning across  the  town,  dividing  the  part  of  Diamante 
which  stands  by  the  Geraci  from  that  which  has 
declared  itself  for  the  Corvaja. 

Even  in  our  day  no  one  from  Geraci  will  marry  a 
girl  from  Corvaja.  And  a  shepherd  from  Corvaja 
cannot  let  his  sheep  drink  from  a  Geraci  fountain. 
They  have  not  even  the  same  saints.  San  Pasquale 
is  worshipped  in  Geraci,  and  the  black  Madonna  is 
Corvaja' s  patron  saint. 

A  man  from  Geraci  can  never  believe  but  that  all 
Corvaja  is  full  of  magicians,  witches,  and  were- 
wolves. A  man  from  Corvaja  will  risk  his  salva- 
tion that  in  Geraci  there  are  none  but  rogues  and 
pick-pockets. 

Donna  Micaela  lived  in  the  Geraci  district,  and 
soon  all  that  part  of  the  town  were  partisans  of  her 
railway.  But  then  Corvaja  could  do  no  less  than  to 
oppose  her. 

The  inhabitants  of  Corvaja  specially  disliked  two 
things.  They  were  jealous  of  the  reputation  of  the 
black  Madonna,  and  therefore  did  not  like  to  have 
another  miracle-working  image  come  to  Diamante. 
That  was  one  thing.  The  other  was  that  they  feared 
that  Mongibello  would  bury  all  Diamante  in  ashes 
and  fire  if  any  one  tried  to  encircle  it  with  a 
railway. 

A  few  days  after  the  bazaar  Palazzo  Corvaja 
began  to  show  itself  hostile.  Donna  Micaela  one 
day  found  on  the  roof-garden  a  lemon,  which  was  so 
thickly  set  with  pins  that  it  looked  like  a  steel  ball. 

18 


274          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

It  was  Palazzo  Corvaja,  that  was  trying  to  bewitch 
as  many  pains  into  her  head  as  there  were  pins  in 
the  lemon. 

Then  Corvaja  waited  a  few  days  to  see  what  effect 
the  lemon  would  have.  But  when  Donna  Micaela's 
people  continued  to  work  on  Etna  and  stake  out  the 
line,  they  came  one  night  and  pulled  everything  up. 
And  when  the  stakes  were  set  up  again  the  next 
day,  they  broke  the  windows  in  the  church  of  San 
Pasquale  and  threw  stones  at  the  Christ-image. 

There  was  a  long  and  narrow  little  square  on  the 
south  side  of  Monte  Chiaro.  On  both  the  long 
sides  stood  dark,  high  buildings.  On  one  of  the 
short  sides  was  an  abyss;  on  the  other  rose  the 
steep  mountain.  The  mountain  wall  was  arranged 
in  terraces,  but  the  steps  were  crumbled  and  the 
marble  railings  broken.  On  the  broadest  of  the 
terraces  rose  the  stately  ruins  of  Palazzo  Corvaja. 

The  chief  ornament  of  the  square  was  a  beautiful, 
oblong  water-basin  which  stood  quite  under  the 
terraces,  close  to  the  mountain  wall.  It  stood  there 
white  as  snow,  covered  with  carvings,  and  full  of 
clear,  cold  water.  It  was  the  best  preserved  of  all 
the  former  glories  of  the  Corvaja. 

One  beautiful  and  peaceful  evening  two  ladies 
dressed  in  black  came  walking  into  the  little  square. 
For  the  moment  it  was  almost  empty.  The  two 
ladies  looked  about  them,  and  when  they  saw  no 
one  they  sat  down  on  the  bench  by  the  fountain, 
and  waited. 

Soon  several  inquisitive  children  came  forward 
and  looked  at  them,  and  the  older  of  the  two  began 
to  talk  to  the  children.  She  began  to  tell  them 


PALAZZO  GERACI— PALAZZO  CORVAJA     2?$ 

stories:  "It  is  said,"  and  "It  is  told,"  and  "Once 
upon  a  time,"  she  said. 

Then  the  children  were  told  of  the  Christchild 
who  turned  himself  into  roses  and  lilies  when  the 
Madonna  met  one  of  Herod's  soldiers,  who  had  been 
commanded  to  kill  all  children.  And  they  were 
told  the  legend  of  how  the  Christchild  once  had  sat 
and  shaped  birds  out  of  clay,  and  how  he  clapped  his 
hands  and  gave  the  clay  pigeons  wings  with  which 
to  fly  away  when  a  naughty  boy  wished  to  break 
them  to  pieces. 

While  the  old  lady  was  talking,  many  children 
gathered  about  her,  and  also  big  people.  It  was  a 
Saturday  evening,  so  that  the  laborers  were  coming 
home  from  their  work  in  the  fields.  Most  of  them 
came  up  to  the  Corvaja  fountain  for  water.  When 
they  heard  that  some  one  was  telling  legends  they 
stopped  to  listen.  Both  the  ladies  were  soon  sur- 
rounded by  a  close,  dark  wall  of  heavy,  black  cloaks 
and  slouch  hats. 

Suddenly  the  old  lady  said  to  the  children:  "Do 
you  like  the  Christchild?"  "Yes,  yes,"  they  said, 
and  their  big,  dark  eyes  sparkled.  —  "  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  see  him?"  —  "Yes,  we  should  in- 
deed." 

The  lady  threw  back  her  mantilla  and  showed  the 
children  a  little  Christ-image  in  a  jewelled  dress, 
and  with  a  gold  crown  on  his  head  and  gold  shoes 
on  his  feet.  "Here  he  is,"  she  said.  "I  have 
brought  him  with  me  to  show  you." 

The  children  were  in  raptures.  First  they  clasped 
their  hands  at  the  sight  of  the  image's  grave  face, 
then  they  began  to  throw  kisses  to  it. 

"  He  is  beautiful,  is  he  not?  "  said  the  lady. 


276          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"  Let  us  have  him !  Let  us  have  him  ! "  cried  the 
children. 

But  now  a  big,  rough  workman,  a  dark  man  with 
a  bushy,  black  beard,  pushed  forward.  He  wished 
to  snatch  away  the  image.  The  old  lady  had  barely 
time  to  thrust  it  behind  her  back. 

"Give  it  here,  Donna  Elisa,  give  it  here!"  said 
the  man. 

Poor  Donna  Elisa  cast  one  glance  at  Donna 
Micaela,  who  had  sat  silent  and  displeased  the 
whole  time  by  her  side.  Donna  M-icaela  had  been 
persuaded  with  difficulty  to  go  to  Corvaja  and  show 
the  image  to  the  people  there.  "  The  image  helps 
us  when  it  wills,"  she  said.  "We  shall  not  force 
miracles." 

But  Donna  Elisa  had  been  determined  to  go,  and 
she  had  said  that  the  image  was  only  waiting  to  be 
taken  to  the  faithless  wretches  in  Corvaja.  After 
everything  that  he  had  done,  they  might  have 
enough  faith  in  him  to  believe  that  he  could  win 
them  over  also. 

Now  she,  Donna  Elisa,  stood  there  with  the  man 
over  her,  and  she  did  not  know  how  she  could  pre- 
vent him  from  snatching  the  image  away. 

"Give  it  to  me  amicably,  Donna  Elisa,"  said  the 
man,  "otherwise,  by  God,  I  will  take  it  in  spite  of 
you.  I  will  hack  it  to  small  pieces,  to  small,  small 
pieces.  You  shall  see  how  much  there  will  be  left 
of  your  wooden  doll.  You  shall  see  if  it  can  with- 
stand the  black  Madonna." 

Donna  Elisa  pressed  against  the  mountain  wall; 
she  saw  no  escape.  She  could  not  run,  and 
she  could  not  struggle.  "Micaela!"  she  wailed, 
"Micaela!" 


PALAZZO  GERACI— PALAZZO  CORVAJA     277 

Donna  Micaela  was  very  pale.  She  held  her 
hands  against  her  heart,  as  she  always  did  when 
anything  agitated  her.  It  was  terrible  to  her  to 
stand  opposed  to  those  dark  men.  These  were  they 
of  the  slouch  hats  and  short  cloaks  of  whom  she  had 
always  been  afraid. 

But  now,  when  Donna  Elisa  appealed  to  her,  she 
turned  quickly,  seized  the  image  and  held  it  out  to 
the  man. 

"  See  here,  take  it !  "  she  said  defiantly.  And  she 
took  a  step  towards  him.  "Take  it,  and  do  with  it 
what  you  can  ! " 

She  held  the  image  on  her  outstretched  arms,  and 
came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  dark  workman. 

He  turned  towards  his  comrades.  "She  does  not 
believe  that  I  can  do  anything  to  the  doll,"  he  said, 
and  laughed  at  her.  And  the  whole  group  of  work- 
men slapped  themselves  on  the  knee  and  laughed. 

But  he  did  not  take  the  image;  he  grasped  instead 
the  big  pick-axe,  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  He 
drew  back  a  few  steps,  lifted  the  pick  over  his  head, 
and  stiffened  his  whole  body  for  a  blow  which  was 
to  crush  at  once  the  entire  hated  wooden  doll. 

Donna  Micaela  shook  her  head  warningly.  "You 
cannot  do  it,"  she  said,  and  she  did  not  draw  the 
image  back. 

He  saw  that  nevertheless  she  was  afraid,  and  he 
enjoyed  frightening  her.  He  stood  longer  than  was 
necessary  with  uplifted  pick. 

"Piero!"  came  a  cry  shrill  and  wailing. 

"Piero!  Piero!" 

The  man  dropped  his  pick  without  striking.  He 
looked  terrified. 

"God!  it  is  Marcia  calling!"  he  said. 


278          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

At  the  same  moment  a  crowd  of  people  came 
tumbling  out  of  a  little  cottage  which  was  built 
among  the  ruins  of  the  old  Palazzo  Corvaja.  There 
were  about  a  dozen  women  and  a  carabiniere,  who 
were  fighting.  The  carabiniere  held  a  child  in  his 
arms,  and  the  women  were  trying  to  drag  the  child 
away  from  him.  But  the  policeman,  who  was  a. 
tall,  strong  fellow,  freed  himself  from  them,  lifted 
the  child  to  his  shoulder,  and  ran  down  the  terrace 
steps. 

The  dark  Piero  had  looked  on  without  making  a, 
movement.  When  the  carabiniere  freed  himselt, 
he  bent  down  to  Donna  Micaela  and  said  eagerly: 
"  If  the  little  one  can  prevent  that,  all  Corvaja  shal1 
be  his  friend." 

Now  the  carabiniere  was  down  in  the  square. 
Piero  made  a  sign  with  his  hand.  Instantly  all  his 
comrades  closed  in  a  ring  round  the  fugitive.  He 
turned  squarely  round.  Everywhere  a  close  ring  of 
men  threatened  him  with  picks  and  shovels. 

All  at  once  there  was  terrible  confusion.  The 
women  who  had  been  struggling  with  the  carabiniere 
came  rushing  down  with  loud  cries.  The  little  girl, 
whom  he  held  in  his  arms,  screamed  as  loud  as  she 
could  and  tried  to  tear  herself  away.  People  came 
running  from  all  sides.  There  were  questionings 
and  wonderings. 

"Let  us  go  now,"  said  Donna  Elisa  to  Donna 
Micaela.  "Now  no  one  is  thinking  of  us." 

But  Donna  Micaela  had  caught  sight  of  one  of  the 
women.  She  screamed  least,  but  it  was  instantly 
apparent  that  it  was  she  whom  the  matter  concerned. 
She  looked  as  if  she  was  about  to  lose  her  life's 
happiness. 


PALAZZO  GERACI— PALAZZO   CORVAJA     279 

She  was  a  woman  who  had  been  very  beautiful, 
although  all  freshness  now  was  gone  from  her,  for 
she  was  no  longer  young.  But  hers  was  still  an 
impressive  and  large-souled  face.  "  Here  dwells  a 
soul  which  can  love  and  surfer,"  said  the  face. 
Donna  Micaela  felt  drawn  to  that  poor  woman  as  to 
a  sister. 

"No,  it  is  not  the  time  to  go  yet,"  she  said  to 
Donna  Elisa. 

The  carabiniere  asked  and  asked  if  they  would 
not  let  him  come  out. 

No,  no,  no !     Not  until  he  let  the  child  go ! 

It  was  the  child  of  Piero  and  his  wife,  Marcia. 
But  they  were  not  the  child's  real  parents.  The 
trouble  arose  from  that. 

The  carabiniere  tried  to  win  the  people  over  to 
his  side.  He  tried  to  convince,  not  Piero  nor 
Marcia,  but  the  others.  "Ninetta  is  the  child's 
mother,"  he  said;  "you  all  know  that.  She  has  not 
been  able  to  have  the  child  with  her  while  she  was 
unmarried;  but  now  she  is  married,  and  wishes  to 
have  her  child  back.  And  now  Marcia  refuses  to 
give  her  the  boy.  It  is  hard  on  Ninetta,  who  has 
not  been  able  to  have  her  child  with  her  for  eight 
years.  Marcia  will  not  give  him  up.  She  drives 
Ninetta  away  when  she  comes  and  begs  for  her 
child.  Finally  Ninetta  had  to  complain  to  the 
syndic.  And  the  syndic  has  told  us  to  get  her 
the  child.  It  is  Ninetta's  own  child,"  he  said 
appealingly. 

But  it  had  no  great  effect  on  the  men  of  Corvaja. 

"Ninetta  is  a  Geraci,"  burst  out  Piero,  and  the 
circle  stood  fast  round  the  carabiniere. 

"When  we  came  here  to  fetch  the  child."  said 


280          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

the  latter,  "  we  did  not  find  him.  Marcia  was  dressed 
in  black,  and  her  rooms  were  draped  with  black, 
and  a  lot  of  women  sat  and  mourned  with  her.  And 
she  showed  us  the  certificate  of  the  child's  death. 
Then  we  went  and  told  Ninetta  that  her  child  was 
in  the  churchyard. 

"  Well,  well,  a  while  afterwards  I  went  on  guard 
here  in  the  square.  I  watched  the  children  playing 
there.  Who  was  strongest,  and  who  shouted  the 
loudest,  if  not  one  of  the  girls?  'What  is  your 
name  ? '  I  asked  her.  '  Francesco, '  she  answered 
instantly. 

"  It  occurred  to  me  that  that  girl,  Francesco,  might 
be  Ninetta's  boy,  and  I  stood  quiet  and  waited. 
Just  now  I  saw  Francesco  go  into  Marcia's  house. 
I  followed,  and  there  sat  the  girl  Francesco  and 
ate  supper  with  Marcia.  She  and  all  the  mourners 
began  to  scream  when  I  appeared.  Then  I  seized 
Signorina  Francesco  and  ran.  For  the  child  is  not 
Marcia's.  Remember  that,  signori !  He  is  Ninetta's. 
Marcia  has  no  right  to  him." 

Then  at  last  Marcia  began  to  speak.  She  spoke 
in  a  deep  voice  which  compelled  every  one  to  listen, 
and  she  made  only  a  few,  but  noble  gestures.  Had 
she  no  right  to  the  child?  But  who  had  given  him 
food  and  clothing?  He  had  been  dead  a  thousand 
times  over  if  she  had  not  been  there.  Ninetta  had 
left  him  with  La  Felucca.  They  knew  La  Felucca. 
To  leave  one's  child  to  her  was  the  same  as  saying 
to  it :  "  You  shall  die. "  And,  moreover,  right  ?  right  ? 
What  did  that  mean  ?  The  one  whom  the  boy  loved 
had  a  right  to  him.  The  one  who  loved  the  boy  had 
a  right  to  him.  Piero  and  she  loved  the  boy  like 
their  own  son.  They  could  not  be  parted  from  him. 


PALAZZO  GERACI— PALAZZO  CORVAJA     28 1 

The  wife  was  desperate,  the  husband  perhaps 
even  more  so.  He  threatened  the  carabiniere  when- 
ever he  made  a  movement.  Yet  the  carabiniere 
seemed  to  see  that  the  victory  would  be  his.  The 
people  had  laughed  when  he  spoke  of  "Signorina 
Francesco."  "Cut  me  down,  if  you  will,"  he  said  to 
Piero.  "Does  it  help  you?  Will  you  retain  the 
child  for  that  ?  He  is  not  yours.  He  is  Ninetta's." 

Piero  turned  to  Donna  Micaela.  "Pray  to  him  to 
help  me."  He  pointed  to  the  image. 

Donna  Micaela  instantly  went  forward  to  Marcia. 
She  was  shy  and  trembled  for  what  she  was  ventur- 
ing, but  it  was  not  the  time  for  her  to  hold  back. 
"Marcia,"  she  whispered,  "confess!  Confess,  —  if 
you  dare ! "  The  startled  woman  looked  at  her. 
"I  see  it  so  well,"  whispered  Donna  Micaela;  "you 
are  as  alike  as  two  berries.  But  I  will  say  nothing 
if  you  do  not  wish  it."  "He  will  kill  me,"  said 
Marcia.  "  I  know  one  who  will  not  let  him  kill 
you,"  said  Donna  Micaela.  "Otherwise  they  will 
take  your  child  from  you,"  she  added. 

All  were  silent,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  two  women. 
They  saw  how  Marcia  struggled  with  herself.  The 
features  of  her  strong  face  were  distorted.  Her  lips 
moved.  "The  child  is  mine,"  she  said,  but  in  so 
low  a  voice  that  no  one  heard  it.  She  said  it  again, 
and  now  it  came  in  a  piercing  scream :  "  The  child 
is  mine!" 

"What  will  you  do  to  me  when  I  confess  it?" 
she  said  to  the  man.  "The  child  is  mine,  but  not 
yours.  He  was  born  in  the  year  when  you  were  at 
work  in  Messina.  I  put  him  with  La  Felucca,  and 
Ninetta's  boy  was  there  too.  One  day  when  I  came 
to  La  Felucca  she  said,  'Ninetta's  boy  is  dead.' 


282         THE  MIRACLES  OF    ANTICHRIST 

At  first  I  only  thought :  '  God  !  if  it  had  been  mine  ! 
Then  I  said  to  La  Felucca :  *  Let  my  boy  be  dead, 
and  let  Ninetta's  live.'  I  gave  La  Felucca  my 
silver  comb,  and  she  agreed.  When  you  came 
home  from  Messina  I  said  to  you :  '  Let  us  take  a 
foster  child.  We  have  never  been  on  good  terms. 
Let  us  try  what  adopting  a  child  will  do. '  You 
liked  the  proposal,  and  I  adopted  my  own  child. 
You  have  been  happy  with  him,  and  we  have  lived 
as  if  in  paradise." 

Before  she  finished  speaking  the  carabiniere  put 
the  child  down  on  the  ground.  The  dark  men 
silently  opened  their  ranks  for  him,  and  he  went 
his  way.  A  shiver  went  through  Donna  Micaela 
when  she  saw  the  carabiniere  go.  He  should  have 
stayed  to  protect  the  poor  woman.  His  going  seemed 
to  mean:  "That  woman  is  beyond  the  pale  of  the 
law;  I  cannot  protect  her."  Every  man  and  woman 
standing  there  felt  the  same :  "  She  is  outside  of 
the  law." 

One  after  another  went  their  way. 

Piero,  the  husband,  stood  motionless  without 
looking  up.  Something  fierce  and  dreadful  was 
gathering  in  him.  Rage  and  suffering  were  gather- 
ing within  him.  Something  terrible  would  happen 
as  soon  as  he  and  Marcia  were  alone. 

The  woman  made  no  effort  to  escape.  She  stood 
still,  paralyzed  by  the  certainty  that  her  fate  was 
sealed,  and  that  nothing  could  change  it.  She 
neither  prayed  nor  fled.  She  shrank  together  like  a 
dog  before  an  angry  master.  The  Sicilian  women 
know  what  awaits  them  when  they  have  wounded 
their  husbands'  honor. 

The  only  one  who  tried  to  defend  her  was  Donna 


PALAZZO  GERACI  — PALAZZO  CORVAJA     283 

Micaela.  Never  would  she  have  begged  Marcia  to 
confess,  she  said  to  Piero,  if  she  had  known  what  he 
was.  She  had  thought  that  he  was  a  generous  man. 
Such  a  one  would  have  said :  "  You  have  done 
wrong;  but  the  fact  that  you  confess  your  sin  pub- 
licly, and  expose  yourself  to  my  anger  to  save  the 
child,  atones  for  everything.  It  is  punishment 
enough.  A  generous  man  would  have  taken  the 
child  on  one  arm,  put  the  other  round  his  wife's 
waist,  and  have  gone  happy  to  his  home.  A  signer 
would  have  acted  so.  But  he  was  no  signor;  he 
was  a  bloodhound. 

She  talked  in  vain;  the  man  did  not  hear  her; 
the  woman  did  not  hear  her.  Her  words  seemed  to 
be  thrown  back  from  an  impenetrable  wall. 

Just  then  the  child  came  to  the  father,  and  tried 
to  take  his  hand.  Furious,  he  looked  at  the  boy. 
As  the  latter  was  dressed  in  girl's  clothes,  his  hair 
smoothly  combed  and  drawn  back  by  the  ears,  he 
saw  instantly  the  likeness  to  Marcia,  which  he  had 
not  noticed  before.  He  kicked  Marcia' s  son  away. 

There  was  a  terrible  tension  in  the  square.  The 
neighbors  continued  to  go  quietly  and  slowly  away. 
Many  went  unwillingly  and  with  hesitation,  but  still 
they  went.  The  husband  seemed  only  to  be  waiting 
for  the  last  to  go. 

Donna  Micaela  ceased  speaking;  she  took  the 
image  instead  and  laid  it  in  Marcia's  arms.  "Take 
him,  my  sister  Marcia,  and  may  he  protect  you ! " 
she  said. 

The  man  saw  it,  and  his  rage  increased.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  could  no  longer  contain  himself  till  he  was 
alone.  He  crouched  like  a  wild  beast  ready  to 
spring. 


284  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

But  the  image  did  not  rest  in  vain  in  the  woman's 
arms.  The  outcast  moved  her  to  an  act  of  the 
greatest  love. 

"  What  will  Christ  in  Paradise  say  to  me,  who 
have  first  deceived  my  husband,  and  then  made  him 
a  murderer  ? "  she  thought.  And  she  remembered 
how  she  had  loved  big  Piero  in  the  days  of  her 
happy  youth.  She  had  not  then  thought  of  bringing 
such  misery  upon  him. 

"  No,  Piero,  no,  do  not  kill  me ! "  she  said  eagerly. 
"  They  will  send  you  to  the  galleys.  You  shall  be 
relieved  of  seeing  me  again  without  that." 

She  ran  towards  the  other  side  of  the  square, 
where  the  ground  fell  away  into  an  abyss.  Every 
one  understood  her  intention.  Her  face  bore  witness 
for  her. 

Several  hurried  after  her,  but  she  had  a  good 
start.  Then  the  image,  which  she  still  carried, 
slipped  from  her  armc  and  lay  at  her  feet.  She 
stumbled  over  it,  fell,  and  was  overtaken. 

She  struggled  to  get  away,  but  a  couple  of  men 
held  her  fast.  "Ah,  let  me  do  it!"  she  cried;  "it 
is  better  for  him  !  " 

Her  husband  came  up  to  her  also.  He  had  caught 
up  her  child  and  placed  him  on  his  arm.  He  was 
much  moved. 

"See,  Marcia,  let  it  be  as  it  is,"  he  said.  He 
was  embarrassed,  but  his  dark,  deep-set  eyes  shone 
with  happiness  and  said  more  than  his  words.  "  Per- 
haps, according  to  old  custom,  it  ought  to  be  so, 
but  I  do  not  care  for  that.  Look,  come  now !  It 
would  be  a  pity  for  such  a  woman  as  you,  Marcia." 

He  put  his  arm  about  Marcia' s  waist,  and  went 
towards  his  house  in  the  ruins  of  Palazzo  Corvaja. 


PALAZZO   GERACI— PALAZZO   CORVAJA     285 

It  was  like  a  triumphal  entry  of  one  of  the  former 
barons.  The  people  of  Corvaja  stood  on  both  sides 
of  the  way  and  bowed  to  him  and  Marcia. 

As  they  went  past  Donna  Micaela,  they  both 
stopped,  bowed  deep  to  her,  and  kissed  the  image 
which  some  one  had  given  back  to  her.  But  Donna 
Micaela  kissed  Marcia.  "Pray  for  me  in  your  hap- 
piness, sister  Marcia!"  she  said. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


FALCO  FALCONE 

THE  blind  singers  have  week  after  week  sung  of 
Diamante's  railway,  and  the  big  collection-box  in 
the  church  of  San  Pasquale  has  been  filled  every 
evening  with  gifts.  Signor  Alfredo  measures  and 
sets  stakes  on  the  slopes  of  Etna,  and  the  distaff- 
spinners  in  the  dark  alleys  tell  stories  of  the  won- 
derful miracles  that  have  been  performed  by  the 
little  Christ-image  in  the  despised  church.  From 
the  rich  and  powerful  men  who  own  the  land  on 
Etna  comes  letter  after  letter  promising  to  give 
ground  to  the  blessed  undertaking. 

During  these  last  weeks  every  one  comes  with 
gifts.  Some  give  building  stone  for  the  stations, 
some  give  powder  to  blast  the  lava  blocks,  some 
give  food  to  the  workmen.  The  poor  people  of 
Diamante,  who  have  nothing,  come  in  the  night 
after  their  work.  They  come  with  shovels  and 
wheelbarrows  and  creep  out  on  Etna,  dig  the  ground, 
and  ballast  the  road.  When  Signor  Alfredo  and  his 
people  come  in  the  morning  they  believe  that  the 
Etna  goblins  have  broken  out  from  their  lava  streams 
and  helped  on  the  work. 

All  the  while  people  have  been  questioning  and 
asking :  "  Where  is  the  king  of  Etna,  Falco  Falcone  ? 
Where  is  the  mighty  Falco  who  has  held  sway  on 
the  slopes  of  Etna  for  five  and  twenty  years?  He 


FALCO  FALCONE  287 

wrote  to  Don  Ferrante's  widow  that  she  would  not 
be  allowed  to  construct  the  railway.  What  did  he 
mean  by  his  threat?  Why  does  he  sit  still  when 
people  are  braving  his  interdiction?  Why  does  he 
not  shoot  down  the  people  of  Corvaja  when  they 
come  creeping  through  the  night  with  wheelbarrows 
and  pickaxes?  Why  does  he  not  drag  the  blind 
singers  down  into  the  quarry  and  whip  them?  Why 
does  he  not  have  Donna  Micaela  carried  off  from 
the  summer-palace,  in  order  to  be  able  to  demand  a 
cessation  in  the  building  of  the  railway  as  a  ransom 
for  her  life?" 

Donna  Micaela  says  to  herself:  "Has  Falco 
Falcone  forgotten  his  promise,  or  is  he  waiting  to 
strike  till  he  can  strike  harder?" 

Everybody  asks  in  the  same  way :  "  When  is  Etna's 
cloud  of  ashes  to  fall  on  the  railway?  When  will 
Mongibello  cataracts  tear  it  away?  When  will  the 
mighty  Falco  Falcone  be  ready  to  destroy  it?" 

While  every  one  is  waiting  for  Falco  to  destroy 
the  railway,  they  talk  a  great  deal  about  him, 
especially  the  workmen  under  Signer  Alfredo. 

Opposite  the  entrance  to  the  church  of  San 
Pasquale,  people  say,  stands  a  little  house  on  a  bare 
crag.  The  house  is  narrow,  and  so  high  that  it 
looks  like  a  chimney  left  standing  on  a  burnt  build- 
ing site.  It  is  so  small  that  there  is  no  room  for 
the  stairs  inside  the  house;  they  wind  up  outside 
the  walls.  Here  and  there  hang  balconies  and  other 
projections  that  are  arranged  with  no  more  sym- 
metry than  a  bird's  nest  on  a  tree-trunk. 

In  that  house  Falco  Falcone  was  born,  and  his 
parents  were  only  poor  working-people.  In  that 
miserable  hut  Falco  learned  arrogance 


288  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Falco's  mother  was  an  unfortunate  woman,  who 
during  the  first  years  of  her  marriage  brought  only 
daughters  into  the  world.  Her  husband  and  all  her 
neighbors  despised  her. 

The  woman  longed  continually  for  a  son.  When 
she  was  expecting  her  fifth  child  she  strewed  salt 
every  day  on  the  threshold  and  sat  and  watched  who 
should  first  cross  it.  Would  it  be  a  man  or  a 
woman?  Should  she  bear  a  son  or  a  daughter? 

Every  day  she  sat  and  counted.  She  counted  the 
letters  in  the  month  when  her  child  was  to  be  born. 
She  counted  the  letters  in  her  husband's  name  and 
in  her  own.  She  added  and  subtracted.  It  was  an 
even  number ;  therefore  she  would  bear  a  son.  The 
next  day  she  made  the  calculation  over  again. 
"  Perhaps  I  counted  wrong  yesterday,"  she  said. 

When  Falco  was  born  his  mother  was  muck 
honored,  and  she  loved  him  on  account  of  it  more 
than  all  her  other  children.  When  the  father  came 
in  to  see  the  child  he  snatched  off  his  cap  and  made 
a  low  bow.  Over  the  house-door  they  set  a  hat  as 
a  token  of  honor,  and  they  poured  the  child's  bath 
water  over  the  threshold,  and  let  it  run  out  into  the 
street.  When  Falco  was  carried  to  the  church  he 
was  laid  on  his  godmother's  right  arm;  when  the 
neighbors'  wives  came  to  look  after  his  mother  they 
courtesied  to  the  child  sleeping  in  his  cradle. 

He  was  also  bigger  and  stronger  than  children 
generally  are.  Falco  had  thick  hair  when  he  was 
born,  and  when  he  was  a  week  old  he  already  had 
a  tooth.  When  his  mother  laid  him  to  her  breast 
he  was  so  wild  that  she  laughed  and  said :  "  I  think 
that  I  have  brought  a  hero  into  the  world." 

She   was   always    expecting  great    achievements 


I-ALCO  FALCONE  289 

from  Falco,  and  she  put  pride  into  him.  But  who 
else  hoped  anything  of  him  ?  Falco  could  not  even 
learn  to  read.  His  mother  tried  to  take  a  book  and 
teach  him  the  letters.  She  pointed  to  A,  that  is 
the  big  hat ;  she  pointed  to  B,  that  is  the  spectacles ; 
she  pointed  to  C,  that  is  the  snake.  That  he  could 
learn.  Then  his  mother  said :  "  If  you  put  the  spec- 
tacles and  the  big  hat  together,  it  makes  Ba. "  That 
he  could  not  learn.  He  became  angry  and  struck 
her,  and  she  let  him  alone.  "You  will  be  a  great 
man  yet,"  she  said. 

Falco  was  dull  and  bad-tempered  in  his  child- 
hood and  youth.  As  a  child,  he  would  not  play; 
as  a  youth,  he  would  not  dance.  He  had  no  sweet- 
heart, but  he  liked  to  go  where  fighting  was  to  be 
expected. 

Falco  had  two  brothers  who  were  like  other 
people,  and  who  were  much  more  esteemed  than  he. 
Falco  was  wounded  to  see  himself  eclipsed  by  his 
brothers,  but  he  was  too  proud  to  show  it.  His 
mother  was  always  on  his  side.  After  his  father's 
death  she  had  him  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
she  never  allowed  any  one  to  jest  with  him.  "My 
oldest  son  is  the  best  of  you  all,"  she  said. 

When  the  people  remember  it  all  they  say: 
"Falco  is  proud.  He  will  make  it  a  point  of  honor 
to  destroy  the  railway." 

And  they  have  hardly  terrified  themselves  with 
one  story  before  they  remember  another  about  him. 

For  thirty  long  years,  people  say,  Falco  lived  like 
any  other  poor  person  on  Etna.  On  Monday  he 
went  away  to  his  work  in  the  fields  with  his  brothers. 
He  had  bread  in  his  sack  for  the  whole  week,  and 
he  made  soup  of  beans  and  rice  like  every  one  else. 

19 


290          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

And  he  was  glad  on  Saturday  evening  to  be  able  to 
return  to  his  home.  He  was  glad  to  find  the  table 
spread,  with  wine  and  macaroni,  and  the  bed  made 
up  with  soft  pillows. 

It  was  just  such  a  Saturday  evening.  Falco  and 
Falco's  brothers  were  on  their  way  home;  Falco,  as 
usual,  a  little  behind  the  others,  for  he  had  a  heavy 
and  slow  way  of  walking.  But  look,  when  the 
brothers  reached  home,  no  supper  was  waiting,  the 
beds  were  not  made,  and  the  dust  lay  thick  on 
the  threshold.  What,  were  all  in  the  house  dead? 
Then  they  saw  their  mother  sitting  on  the  floor  in  a 
dark  corner  of  the  cottage.  Her  hair  was  drawn 
down  over  her  face,  and  she  sat  and  traced  patterns 
with  her  finger  on  the  earth  floor.  "What  is  the 
matter?"  said  the  brothers.  She  did  not  lookup; 
she  spoke  as  if  she  had  spoken  to  the  earth.  "  We 
are  beggared,  beggared."  "Do  they  want  to  take 
our  house  from  us?"  cried  the  brothers.  "They 
wish  to  take  away  our  honor  and  our  daily  bread. " 

Then  she  told :  "  Your  eldest  sister  has  had  em- 
ployment with  Baker  Gasparo,  and  it  has  been  good 
employment.  Signer  Gasparo  gave  Pepa  all  the 
bread  left  over  in  the  shop,  and  she  brought  it  to 
me.  There  has  been  so  much  that  there  was  enough 
for  us  all.  I  have  been  happy  ever  since  Pepa  found 
that  employment.  It  will  give  me  an  old  age  free 
from  care,  I  thought.  But  last  Monday  Pepa  came 
home  to  me  and  wept ;  Signora  Gasparo  had  turned 
her  away. " 

"  What  had  Pepa  done  ? "  asked  Nino,  who  was 
next  younger  to  Falco. 

"  Signora  Gasparo  accused  Pepa  of  stealing  bread. 
I  went  to  Signora  Gasparo  and  asked  her  to  take 


FALCO  FALCONE  291 

Pepa  back.  '  No,'  she  said,  '  the  girl  is  not  honest. ' 
'  Pepa  had  the  bread  from  Signer  Gasparo,'  I  said; 
'ask  him.'  '  I  cannot  ask  him,'  said  the  signora; 
'  he  is  away,  and  comes  home  next  month. '  '  Si- 
gnora,'  I  said,  '  we  are  so  poor.  Let  Pepa  come 
back  to  her  place.'  '  No,'  she  said;  '  I  myself  will 
leave  Signer  Gasparo  if  he  takes  that  girl  back.' 
'Take  care,'  I  said  then;  '  if  you  take  bread  from 
me,  I  will  take  life  from  you.'  Then  she  was 
frightened  and  called  others  in,  so  that  I  had  to 

go-" 

"  What  is  to  be  done  about  it?  "  said  Nino.  " Pepa 
must  find  some  other  work." 

"Nino,"  said  Mother  Zia,  "you  do  not  know  what 
that  woman  has  said  to  the  neighbors  about  Pepa 
and  Signer  Gasparo." 

"Who  can  prevent  women  from  talking?"  said 
Nino. 

"If  Pepa  has  nothing  else  to  do,  now  she  might 
at  least  have  cooked  dinner  for  us,"  said  Turiddo. 

"  Signora  Gasparo  has  said  that  her  husband  let 
Pepa  steal  bread  that  she  should  — " 

"Mother,"  interrupted  Nino,  red  as  fire,  "I  do 
not  intend  to  have  myself  put  in  the  galleys  for 
Pepa's  sake." 

"The  galleys  do  not  eat  Christians,"  said  Mother 
Zia. 

"Nino,"  said  Pietro,  "we  had  better  go  to  the 
town  to  get  some  food." 

As  they  said  it  they  heard  some  one  laugh  be- 
hind them.  It  was  Falco  who  laughed. 

A  while  later  Falco  entered  Signora  Gaspare's 
shop  and  asked  for  bread.  The  poor  woman  was 
frightened  when  Pepa's  brother  came  into  the  shop 


292          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

But  she  thought :  "  He  has  just  come  from  his  work. 
He  has  not  been  home  yet.  He  knows  nothing.'* 

"Beppo,"  she  said  to  him,  for  Falco's  name  was 
not  then  Falco,  "  is  the  harvest  a  good  one?  "  And 
she  was  prepared  not  to  have  him  answer. 

Falco  was  more  talkative  than  usual,  and  imme- 
diately told  her  how  many  grapes  had  already  been 
put  through  the  press.  "Do  you  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, "that  a  farmer  was  murdered  yesterday."  — 
"Alas,  yes,  poor  Signer  Riego;  I  heard  so."  And 
she  asked  how  it  had  happened. 

"It  was  Salvatore  who  did  it.  But  it  is  too 
dreadful  for  a  signora  to  hear ! "  —  "  Oh,  no,  what  is 
done  can  be  and  is  told." 

"Salvatore  went  up  to  him  in  this  way,  signora." 
And  Falco  drew  his  knife  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
woman's  head.  "Then  he  cut  him  across  the  throat 
from  ear  to  ear. " 

As  Falco  spoke,  he  suited  the  action  to  the  word. 
The  woman  did  not  even  have  time  to  scream.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  master. 

After  that,  Falco  was  sent  to  the  galleys,  where  he 
remained  five  years. 

When  the  people  tell  of  that,  their  terror  increases. 
"  Falco  is  brave,"  they  say.  "  Nothing  in  the  world 
can  frighten  him  away  from  his  purpose." 

That  immediately  made  them  think  of  another 
story. 

Falco  was  taken  to  the  galleys  in  August,  where 
he  became  acquainted  with  Biagio,  who  afterwards 
followed  him  through  his  whole  life.  One  day  he 
and  Biagio  and  a  third  prisoner  were  ordered  to  go 
to  work  in  the  fields.  One  of  the  overseers  wished 
to  construct  a  garden  around  his  house.  They  dug 


FALCO  FALCONE  293 

there  quietly,  but  their  eyes  began  to  wander  and 
wander.  They  were  outside  the  walls;  they  saw 
the  plain  and  the  mountains;  they  even  saw  up  to 
Etna.  "  It  is  the  time,"  whispered  Falco  to  Biagio. 
"I  will  rather  die  than  go  back  to  prison,"  said 
Biagio.  Then  they  whispered  to  the  other  prisoner 
that  he  must  stand  by  them.  He  did  not  wish  to 
do  so,  because  his  time  of  punishment  was  soon 
up.  "  Else  we  will  kill  you,"  they  said,  and  then  he 
agreed. 

The  guard  stood  over  them  with  his  loaded  rifle 
in  his  hand.  On  account  of  their  fetters,  Falco  and 
Biagio  hopped  with  feet  together  over  to  the  guard. 
They  swung  their  shovels  over  him,  and  before  he 
had  time  to  think  of  shooting  he  was  thrown  down, 
bound,  and  had  a  clump  of  earth  in  his  mouth. 
Thereupon  the  prisoners  pried  open  their  chains 
with  the  shovels,  so  that  they  could  take  a  step,  and 
crept  away  over  the  plain  to  the  hills. 

When  night  came  Falco  and  Biagio  abandoned 
the  prisoner  whom  they  had  taken  with  them.  He 
was  old  and  feeble,  so  that  he  would  have  hindered 
their  flight.  The  next  day  he  was  seized  by  the 
carabinieri,  and  shot. 

They  shudder  when  they  think  of  it.  "Falco  is 
merciless,"  they  say.  They  know  that  he  will  not 
spare  the  railway. 

Story  after  story  comes  to  frighten  the  poor  people 
working  on  the  railway  on  the  slopes  of  Etna. 

They  tell  of  all  the  sixteen  murders  that  Falco 
has  committed.  They  tell  of  his  attacks  and 
plunderings. 

There  is  one  story  more  terrifying  than  all  the 
others  together. 


294  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICRIST 

When  Falco  escaped  from  the  galleys  he  lived  in 
the  woods  and  caves,  and  in  the  big  quarry  near 
Diamante.  He  soon  gathered  a  band  about  him, 
and  became  a  wonderful  and  famous  brigand  hero. 

All  his  family  were  held  in  much  greater  consid- 
eration than  before.  They  were  respected,  as  the 
mighty  are  respected.  They  scarcely  needed  to 
work,  for  Falco  loved  his  relations  and  was  generous 
to  them.  But  he  was  not  lenient  towards  them ;  he 
was  very  stern. 

Mother  Zia  was  dead,  and  Nino  was  married  and 
lived  in  his  father's  cottage.  It  happened  one  day 
that  Nino  needed  money,  and  he  knew  no  better  way 
than  to  go  to  the  priest,  —  not  Don  Matteo,  but  to 
old  Don  Giovanni.  "Your  Reverence,"  said  Nino 
to  him,  "my  brother  asks  you  for  five  hundred  lire." 
"Where  shall  I  find  five  hundred  lire?"  said  Don 
Giovanni.  "  My  brother  needs  them ;  he  must  have 
them,"  said  Nino. 

Then  old  Don  Giovanni  promised  to  give  the 
money,  if  he  only  were  given  time  to  collect  it. 
Nino  was  hardly  willing  to  agree  to  that.  "You 
can  scarcely  expect  me  to  take  five  hundred  lire 
from  my  snuff-box,"  said  Don  Giovanni.  And 
Nino  granted  him  three  days'  respite.  "But  beware 
of  meeting  my  brother  during  that  time,"  he  said. 

The  next  day  Don  Giovanni  rode  to  Nicolosi  to 
try  to  claim  a  payment.  Who  should  he  meet  on 
the  way  but  Falco  and  two  of  his  band.  Don 
Giovanni  threw  himself  from  his  donkey  and  fell 
on  his  knees  before  Falco.  "What  does  this  mean, 
Don  Giovanni  ?  "  —  "  As  yet  I  have  no  money  for 
you,  Falco,  but  I  will  try  to  get  it.  Have  mercy 
upon  me ! " 


fALCO  FALCONE  295 

Falco  asked,  and  Don  Giovanni  told  the  whole 
story.  "Your  Reverence,"  said  Falco,  "he  has 
been  deceiving  you."  He  begged  Don  Giovanni 
to  go  with  him  to  Diamante.  When  they  came  to 
the  old  house  Don  Giovanni  rode  in  behind  the 
wall  of  San  Pasquale,  and  Falco  called  Nino  out 
Nino  came  out  on  one  of  the  balconies.  "Eh, 
Nino!"  said  Falco,  and  laughed.  "You  have 
cheated  the  priest  out  of  money?"  "Do  you  know 
it  already?"  said  Nino.  "I  was  just  going  to  tell 
it  to  you." 

Now  Falco  became  sterner.  "Nino,"  he  said, 
"the  priest  is  my  friend,  and  he  believes  that  I 
have  wished  to  rob  him.  You  have  done  very 
wrong."  He  suddenly  put  his  gun  to  his  shoulder 
and  shot  Nino  down,  and  when  he  had  done  so  he 
turned  to  Don  Giovanni,  who  had  almost  fallen 
from  his  donkey  with  terror.  "You  see  now,  your 
Reverence,  that  I  had  no  part  in  Nino's  designs  on 
you ! " 

And  that  happened  twenty  years  ago,  when  Falco 
had  not  been  a  brigand  for  more  than  five  years. 

"  Will  Falco  spare  the  railway, "  people  say,  as  they 
tell  it,  "when  he  did  not  spare  his  own  brother?  " 

There  was  yet  more. 

After  Nino's  murder  there  was  a  vendetta  over 
Falco.  Nino's  wife  was  so  terrified  when  she  found 
her  husband  dead  that  half  her  body  became  para- 
lyzed, and  she  could  no  longer  walk.  But  she  took 
her  place  at  the  window  in  the  old  cottage.  There 
she  has  sat  for  twenty  years  with  a  gun  beside  her,  and 
waited  for  Falco.  And  of  her  the  great  brigand  has 
been  afraid.  For  twenty  years  he  has  not  gone  past 
the  home  of  his  ancestors. 


296         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

The  woman  has  not  deserted  her  post.  No  one 
ever  goes  to  the  church  of  San  Pasquale  without 
seeing  her  revengeful  eyes  shining  behind  the  panes. 
Who  has  ever  seen  her  sleep?  Who  has  seen  her 
work?  She  could  do  nothing  but  await  her  hus- 
band's murderer. 

When  people  hear  that,  they  are  even  more  afraid. 
Falco  has  luck  on  his  side,  they  think.  The  woman 
who  wishes  to  kill  him  cannot  move  from  her  place. 
He  has  luck  on  his  side.  He  will  also  succeed  in 
destroying  the  railway.  Fortune  has  never  failed 
Falco.  The  carabinieri  have  hunted,  but  have 
never  been  able  to  catch  him.  The  carabinieri  have 
feared  Falco  more  than  Falco  has  feared  the 
carabinieri. 

People  tell  a  story  of  a  young  carabiniere  lieu- 
tenant who  once  pursued  Falco.  He  had  arranged 
a  line  of  beaters  and  hunted  Falco  from  one  thicket 
to  another.  At  last  the  officer  was  certain  that  he 
had  Falco  shut  in  in  a  grove.  A  guard  was  stationed 
round  the  wood,  and  the  officer  searched  the  covert, 
gun  in  hand.  But  however  much  he  searched,  he 
saw  no  Falco.  He  came  out,  and  met  a  peasant. 
"  Have  you  seen  Falco  Falcone?  "  —  "Yes,  signer; 
he  just  went  by  me,  and  he  asked  me  to  greet  you." 
—  "Diavolo!" —  "He  saw  you  in  the  thicket,  and 
he  was  just  going  to  shoot  you,  but  he  did  not 
do  so,  because  he  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  your 
duty  to  prosecute  him."  —  "  Diavolo  !  Diavolo  /  "  — 
"But  if  you  try  another  time  — "  —  "Diavolo! 
Diavolo  !  Diavolo  !  " 

Do  you  think  that  lieutenant  came  back?  Do  you 
not  think  that  he  instantly  sought  out  a  district 
where  he  did  not  need  to  hunt  brigands? 


FALCO  FALCONE  297 

And  the  workmen  on  Etna  asked  themselves: 
"  Who  will  protect  us  against  Falco  ?  He  is  terrible. 
Even  the  soldiers  tremble  before  him." 

They  remember  that  Falco  Falcone  is  now  an  old 
man.  He  no  longer  plunders  post-wagons;  he  does 
not  carry  off  land -owners.  He  sits  quiet  generally 
in  the  quarry  near  Diamante,  and  instead  of  robbing 
money  and  estates,  he  takes  money  and  estates 
under  his  protection. 

He  takes  tribute  from  the  great  landed  proprietors 
and  guards  their  estates  from  other  thieves,  and  it 
has  become  calm  and  peaceful  on  Etna,  for  he  allows 
no  one  to  injure  those  who  have  paid  a  tax  to  him. 

But  that  is  not  reassuring.  Since  Falco  has 
become  friends  with  the  great,  he  can  all  the  more 
easily  destroy  the  railway. 

And  they  remember  the  story  of  Niccola  Galli, 
who  is  overseer  on  the  estate  of  the  Marquis  di  San 
Stefano  on  the  southern  side  of  Etna.  Once  his 
workmen  struck  in  the  middle  of  the  harvest  time. 
Niccola  Galli  was  in  despair.  The  wheat  stood 
ripe,  and  he  could  not  get  it  reaped.  His  workmen 
would  not  work ;  they  lay  down  to  sleep  at  the  edge 
of  a  ditch. 

Niccola  placed  himself  on  a.  donkey  and  rode  down 
to  Catania  to  ask  his  lord  for  advice.  On  the  way 
he  met  two  men  with  guns  on  their  shoulders. 
"Whither  are  you  riding,  Niccola?" 

Before  Niccola  had  time  to  say  many  words  they 
took  his  donkey  by  the  bit  and  turned  him  round. 
"You  must  not  ride  to  the  Marquis,  Niccola?"  — 
"Must  I  not?"  —  "No;  you  must  ride  home." 

As  they  went  along,  Niccola  sat  and  shook  on  his 
donkey.  When  they  were  again  at  home  the  men 


298          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

said :  "  Now  show  us  the  way  to  the  fields ! "  And 
they  went  out  to  the  laborers.  "  Work,  you  scoun- 
drels! The  marquis  has  paid  his  tribute  to  Falco 
Falcone.  You  can  strike  in  other  places,  but  not 
here."  That  field  was  reaped  as  never  before. 
Falco  stood  on  one  side  of  it  and  Biagio  on  the 
other.  The  grain  is  soon  harvested  with  such 
overseers. 

When  the  people  remember  that,  their  terror  does 
not  decrease.  "Falco  keeps  his  word,"  they  say. 
"He  will  do  what  he  has  threatened  to  do." 

No  one  has  been  a  robber  chief  as  long  as  Falco. 
All  the  other  famous  heroes  are  dead  or  captives. 
He  alone  keeps  himself  alive  and  in  his  profession 
by  incredible  good  fortune  and  skill. 

Gradually  he  has  collected  about  him  all  his 
family.  His  brothers-in-law  and  nephews  are  all 
with  him.  Most  of  them  have  been  sent  to  the 
galleys,  but  not  one  of  them  thinks  whether  he 
suffers  in  prison;  he  only  asks  if  Falco  is  satisfied 
with  him. 

In  the  newspapers  there  are  often  accounts  of 
Falco's  deeds.  Englishmen  thrust  a  note  of  ten 
lire  into  their  guide's  hand  if  he  will  show  them  the 
way  to  Falco's  quarry.  The  carabinieri  no  longer 
shoot  at  him,  because  he  is  the  last  great  brigand. 

He  so  little  fears  to  be  captured  that  he  often 
comes  down  to  Messina  or  Palermo.  He  has  even 
crossed  the  sound  and  been  in  Italy.  He  went  to 
Naples  when  Guglielmo  and  Umberto  were  there  to 
christen  a  battle-ship.  He  travelled  to  Rome  when 
Umberto  and  Margherita  celebrated  their  silver 
wedding. 

The  people  think  of  it  all,  and  tremble.     "Falco 


FALCO  FALCONE  299 

is  loved  and  admired,"  the  workmen  say.  "The 
people  worship  Falco.  He  can  do  what  he  will." 

They  know  too  that  when  Falco  saw  Queen  Mar- 
gherita's  silver  wedding,  it  pleased  him  so  much 
that  he  said:  "When  I  have  lived  on  Etna  for  five 
and  twenty  years,  I  shall  celebrate  my  silver  wed- 
ding with  Mongibello." 

People  laughed  at  that  and  said  that  it  was  a 
good  idea  of  Falco's.  For  he  had  never  had  a 
sweetheart,  but  Mongibello  with  its  caves  and  forests 
and  craters  and  ice-fields  had  served  and  protected 
him  like  a  wife.  To  no  one  in  the  world  did  Falco 
owe  such  gratitude  as  to  Mongibello. 

People  ask  when  Falco  and  Mongibello  are  going 
to  celebrate  their  silver  wedding.  And  people  an- 
swer that  it  will  be  this  spring  Then  the  workmen 
think:  "He  is  coming  to  destroy  our  railway  on  t/ie 
day  of  Mongibello." 

They  are  filled  with  doubt  and  terror.  They  soon 
will  not  dare  to  work  any  more.  The  nearer  the 
time  approaches  when  Falco  is  to  celebrate  his 
union  with  Mongibello,  the  more  there  are  who 
leave  Signer  Alfredo.  Soon  he  is  practically  alone 
at  the  work. 

•  •••••••• 

There  are  not  many  people  in  Diamante  who  have 
seen  the  big  quarry  on  Etna.  They  have  learned  to 
avoid  it  because  Falco  Falcone  lives  there.  They 
have  been  careful  to  keep  out  of  range  of  his  gun. 

They  have  not  seen  the  great  hole  in  Mongibello's 
side  from  which  their  ancestors,  the  Greeks,  took 
stone  in  remote  times.  They  have  not  seen  the 
beautifully  colored  walls,  and  the  mighty  rocks  that 
look  like  ruined  pillars.  Perhaps  they  do  not  know 


300         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

that  on  the  bottom  of  the  quarry  grow  more  magnifi- 
cent flowers  than  in  a  conservatory.  There  it  is  no 
longer  Sicily;  it  is  India. 

In  the  quarry  are  mandarin  trees,  so  yellow  with 
fruit  that  they  look  like  gigantic  sun-flowers;  the 
camellias  are  as  big  as  tambourines;  and  on  the 
ground  between  the  trees  lie  masses  of  magnificent 
figs  and  downy  peaches  embedded  in  fallen  rose- 
leaves. 

One  evening  Falco  is  sitting  alone  in  the  quarry. 
Falco  is  busy  making  a  wreath,  and  he  has  beside 
him  a  mass  of  flowers.  The  string  he  is  using  is  as 
thick  as  a  rope;  he  holds  his  foot  on  the  ball  so 
that  it  shall  not  roll  away  from  him.  He  wears 
spectacles,  which  continually  slip  too  far  down  his 
hooked  nose. 

Falco  is  swearing  horribly,  for  his  hands  are  stiff 
and  callous  from  incessantly  handling  a  gun,  and 
cannot  readily  hold  flowers.  The  fingers  squeeze 
them  together  like  steel  tongs.  Falco  swears  because 
the  lilies  and  anemones  fall  into  little  pieces  if  he 
merely  looks  at  them. 

Falco  sits  in  his  leather  breeches  and  in  the  long, 
buttoned-up  coat,  buried  in  flowers  like  a  saint  on  a 
feast-day.  Biagio  and  his  nephew,  Passafiore,  have 
gathered  them  for  him.  They  have  piled  up  in 
front  of  him  an  Etna  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers  of 
the  quarry.  Falco  can  choose  among  lilies  and 
cactus-flowers  and  roses  and  pelargoniums.  He 
roars  at  the  flowers  that  he  will  trample  them  to 
dust  under  his  leather  sandals  if  they  do  not  submit 
themselves  to  his  will. 

Never  before  has  Falco  Falcone  had  to  do  with 
flowers.  In  the  whole  course  of  his  life  he  has  never 


FALCO  FALCONE  301 

tied  a  nosegay  for  a  girl,  or  plucked  a  rose  for  his 
button-hole.  He  has  never  even  laid  a  wreath  on 
his  mother's  grave. 

Therefore  the  delicate  flowers  rebel  against  him. 
The  flower  sprays  are -entangled  in  his  hair  and  in 
his  hat,  and  the  petals  have  caught  in  his  bushy 
beard.  He  shakes  his  head  violently,  and  the  scar 
in  his  cheek  glows  red  as  fire  as  it  used  to  do  in  the 
old  days,  when  he  fought  with  the  carabinieri. 

Still  the  wreath  grows,  and  thick  as  a  tree-trunk 
it  winds  round  Falco's  feet  and  legs.  Falco  swears 
at  it  as  if  it  were  the  steel  fetters  that  once  dragged 
between  his  ankles.  He  complains  more,  when  he 
tears  himself  on  a  thorn  or  burns  himself  on  a 
nettle,  than  he  did  when  the  whip  of  the  galley 
guard  lashed  his  back. 

Biagio  and  Passafiore,  his  nephew,  do  not  dare  to 
show  themselves;  they  lie  concealed  in  a  cave  till 
everything  is  ready.  They  laugh  at  Falco  with  all 
their  might,  for  such  wailings  as  Falco's  have  not 
sounded  in  the  quarry  since  unhappy  prisoners  of 
war  were  kept  at  work  there. 

Biagio  looks  up  to  great  Etna,  which  is  blushing 
in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun.  "  Look  at  Mon- 
gibello,"  he  says  to  Passafiore;  "see  how  it  blushes. 
It  must  guess  what  Falco  is  busy  with  down  in  the 
quarry. "  And  Passafiore  answers :  "  Mongibello  has 
probably  never  thought  that  it  would  ever  have  any- 
thing on  its  head  but  ashes  and  snow." 

But  suddenly  Biagio  stopped  laughing.  "  It  is 
not  well,  Passafiore,"  he  said.  "Falco  has  become 
too  proud.  I  am  afraid  that  the  great  Mongibello 
is  going  to  make  a  fool  of  him." 

The  two  bandits  look  one  another  in  the  eyes 


302          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

questioningly.  "It  is  well  if  it  is  only  pride,"  says 
Passafiore. 

But  now  they  look  away  at  the  same  moment,  and 
dare  say  no  more.  The  same  thought,  the  same 
dread  has  seized  them  both.  Falco  is  going  mad. 
He  is  already  mad  at  times.  It  is  always  so  with 
great  brigand  chiefs;  they  cannot  bear  their  glory 
and  their  greatness;  they  all  go  mad. 

Passafiore  and  Biagio  have  seen  it  for  a  long  time, 
but  they  have  borne  it  in  silence,  and  each  has 
hoped  that  the  other  has  seen  nothing.  Now  they 
understand  that  they  both  know  it.  They  press 
each  other's  hands  without  a  word.  There  is  still 
something  so  great  in  Falco.  Both  of  them,  Pas- 
safiore and  Biagio,  will  take  care  that  no  one  shall 
perceive  that  he  is  no  longer  the  man  he  was. 

Finally  Falco  has  his  wreath  ready;  he  hangs  it 
on  the  barrel  of  his  gun  and  comes  out  to  the 
others.  All  three  climb  out  of  the  quarry,  and  at 
the  nearest  farm-house  they  take  horses  in  order  to 
come  quickly  to  the  top  of  Mongibello. 

They  ride  at  full  gallop  so  that  they  have  no 
chance  to  talk,  but  as  they  pass  the  different  farms 
they  can  see  the  people  dancing  on  the  flat  roofs. 
And  from  the  sheds,  where  the  laborers  sleep  at 
night,  they  hear  talk  and  laughter.  There  happy, 
peaceful  people  are  sitting,  guessing  conundrums 
and  matching  verses.  Falco  storms  by,  such  things 
are  not  for  him.  Falco  is  a  great  man. 

They  gallop  towards  the  summit.  At  first  they 
ride  between  almond-trees  and  cactus,  then  under 
plane-trees  and  stone-pines,  then  under  oaks  and 
chestnut-trees. 

The    night    is    dark;    they   see    nothing   of    the 


FALCO  FALCONE 

beauty  of  Mongibcllo.  They  do  not  see  the  vine- 
encircled  Monte  Rosso;  they  do  not  see  the  two 
hundred  craters  that  stand  in  a  circle  round  Etna's 
lofty  peak  like  towers  round  a  town;  they  do  not 
see  the  endless  stretches  of  thick  forest. 

In  Casa  del  Bosco,  where  the  road  ends,  they  dis- 
mount. Biagio  and  Passafiore  take  the  wreath  and 
carry  it  between  them.  As  they  walk  along,  Falco  be- 
gins to  talk.  He  likes  to  talk  since  he  has  grown  old. 

Falco  says  that  the  mountain  is  like  the  twenty- 
five  years  of  his  life  that  he  has  passed  there.  The 
years  that  founded  his  greatness  had  blossomed 
with  deeds.  To  be  with  him  then  had  been  like 
going  through  an  endless  arbor,  where  lemons  and 
grapes  hung  down  overhead.  Then  his  deeds  had 
been  as  numerous  as  the  orange-trees  round  Etna's 
base.  When  he  had  come  higher  the  deeds  had 
been  less  frequent,  but  those  he  had  executed  had 
been  mighty  as  the  oaks  and  chestnut-trees  on  the 
rising  mountain.  Now  that  he  was  at  the  summit 
of  greatness,  he  scorned  to  act.  His  life  was  as 
bald  as  the  mountain  top;  he  was  content  to  see 
the  world  at  his  feet.  But  people  ought  to  under- 
stand that,  if  he  should  now  undertake  anything, 
nothing  could  resist  him.  He  was  terrible,  like  the 
fire-spouting  summit. 

Falco  walks  before  and  talks;  Passafiore  and 
Biagio  follow  him  in  silent  terror.  Dimly  they 
see  the  mighty  slopes  of  Mongibello  with  their 
towns  and  fields  and  forests  spread  out  beneath 
them.  And  Falco  thinks  that  he  is  as  mighty  as 
all  that ! 

As  they  struggle  upwards  they  are  beset  with  a 
growing  feeling  of  dread.  The  gaping  fissures  in 


304          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

the  ground;  the  sulphur  smoke  from  the  crater, 
which  rolls  down  the  mountain,  too  heavy  to  rise 
into  the  air;  the  explosions  inside  the  mountain; 
the  incessant,  gently  rumbling  earthquake;  the 
slippery,  rough  ice-fields  crossed  by  gushing  brooks; 
the  extreme  cold,  the  biting  wind,  —  make  the  walk 
hideous.  And  Falco  says  that  it  is  like  him  !  How 
can  he  have  such  things  in  his  soul?  Is  it  filled 
with  a  cold  and  a  horror  to  be  compared  to  Etna's? " 

They  stumble  over  blocks  of  ice,  and  they  struggle 
forward  through  snow  lying  sometimes  a  yard  deep. 
The  mountain  blast  almost  throws  them  down. 
They  have  to  wade  through  slush  and  water,  for 
through  the  day  the  sun  has  melted  a  mass  of  snow. 
And  while  they  grow  stiff  with  cold,  the  ground 
shakes  under  them  with  the  everlasting  fire. 

They  remember  that  Lucifer  and  all  the  damned 
are  lying  under  them.  They  shudder  because  Falco 
has  brought  them  to  the  gates  of  Hell. 

But  nevertheless  beyond  the  ice-field  they  reach 
the  steep  cone  of  ashes  on  the  very  summit  of  the 
mountain.  Here  they  drag  themselves  up,  walking 
on  sliding  ashes  and  pumice-stone.  When  they  are 
half  way  up  the  cone  Falco  takes  the  wreath,  and 
motions  to  the  others  to  wait.  He  alone  will  scale 
the  summit. 

The  day  is  just  breaking,  and  as  Falco  reaches 
the  top  the  sun  is  visible.  The  glorious  morning 
light  streams  over  Mongibello  and  over  the  old  Etna 
brigand  on  its  summit.  The  shadow  of  Etna  is 
thrown  over  the  whole  of  Sicily,  and  it  looks  as  if 
Falco,  standing  up  there,  reached  from  sea  to  sea, 
across  the  island. 

Falco  stands   and  gazes   about   him.     He   looks 


FALCO  FALCONE  30* 

across  to  Italy;  he  fancies  he  sees  Naples  and 
Rome.  He  lets  his  glance  pass  over  the  sea  to  the 
land  of  the  Turk  to  the  east  and  the  land  of  the 
Saracen  to  the  south.  He  feels  as  if  it  all  lay  at 
his  feet  and  acknowledged  his  greatness. 

Then  Falco  lays  the  wreath  on  the  summit  of 
Mongibello. 

When  he  comes  down  to  his  comrades  he  solemnly 
presses  their  hands.  As  he  leaves  the  cone  they 
see  that  he  picks  up  a  piece  of  pumice-stone,  and 
puts  it  in  his  pocket.  Falco  takes  with  him  a 
souvenir  of  the  most  beautiful  hour  of  his  life.  He 
has  never  before  felt  himself  so  great  as  on  the  top 
of  Mongibello. 

On  that  day  of  happiness  Falco  will  do  no  work. 
The  next  day,  he  says,  he  will  begin  the  undertak- 
ing of  freeing  Mongibello  from  the  railway. 

There  is  a  lonely  farm-house  on  the  road  between 
Patern6  and  Adern6.  It  is  quite  large,  and  it  is 
owned  by  a  widow,  Donna  Silvia,  who  has  many 
strong  sons.  They  are  bold  people  who  dare  to  live 
alone  the  whole  year  in  the  country. 

It  is  the  day  following  the  one  when  Falco  crowned 
Mongibello.  Donna  Silvia  is  sitting  on  the  grass- 
plot  with  her  distaff ;  she  is  alone  ;  there  is  no  one  else 
at  home  on  the  farm.  A  beggar  comes  softly  creep- 
ing in  through  the  gate. 

He  is  an  old  man  with  a  long,  hooked  nose  which 
hangs  down  over  his  upper  lip,  a  bushy  beard,  pale 
eyes  with  red  eyelids.  They  are  the  ugliest  eyes 
imaginable;  the  whites  are  yellowish,  and  they 
squint.  The  beggar  is  tall  and  very  thin;  he  moves 
his  body  when  he  walks,  so  that  it  looks  as  if  he 

20 


306          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

wriggled  forward.  He  walks  so  softly  that  Donna 
Silvia  does  not  hear  him.  The  first  thing  sh? 
notices  is  his  shadow,  which,  slender  as  a  snake, 
bends  down  towards  her. 

She  looks  up  when  she  sees  the  shadow.  Then 
the  beggar  bows  to  her  and  asks  for  a  dish  of 
macaroni. 

"  I  have  macaroni  on  the  fire,"  says  Donna  Silvia. 
"Sit  down  and  wait;  you  shall  have  your  fill." 

The  beggar  sits  down  beside  Donna  Silvia,  and 
after  a  while  they  begin  to  chat.  They  soon  talk 
of  Falco. 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  let  your  sons  work  on  Donna 
Micaela's  railway?"  says  the  beggar. 

Donna  Silvia  bites  her  lips  together,  and  nods  an 
assent. 

"You  are  a  brave  woman,  Donna  Silvia.  Falco 
might  be  revenged  on  you." 

"Then  he  can  take  revenge,"  says  Donna  Silvia. 
"But  I  will  not  obey  one  who  has  killed  my  father. 
He  forced  him  to  escape  from  prison  in  Augusta, 
and  my  father  was  captured  and  shot." 

And  so  saying  she  rises  and  goes  in  to  get  the 
food. 

As  she  stands  in  the  kitchen  she  sees  the  beggar 
through  the  window,  sitting  and  rocking  on  the 
stone-bench.  He  is  not  quiet  for  a  moment.  And 
in  front  of  him  writhes  his  shadow,  slender  and 
lithe  as  a  snake. 

Donna  Silvia  remembers  what  she  had  once  heard 
Caterina,  who  had  been  married  to  Falco's  brother, 
Nino,  say.  "  How  will  you  recognize  Falco  after 
twenty  years  ?  "  people  had  asked  her.  "  Should  I 
not  recognize  the  man  with  the  snake-shadow?"  she 


FALCO  FALCONE  3<>7 

answered.  "  He  will  never  lose  it,  long  as  he  may 
live." 

Donna  Silvia  presses  her  hand  on  her  heart. 
There  in  her  yard  Falco  Falcone  is  sitting.  He 
has  come  to  be  revenged  because  her  sons  work  on 
the  railway.  Will  he  set  fire  to  the  house,  or  will 
he  murder  her? 

Donna  Silvia  is  shaking  in  every  limb  as  she 
serves  up  her  macaroni. 

Falco  begins  to  find  the  time  long  as  he  sits  on 
the  stone-bench.  A  little  dog  comes  up  to  him  and 
rubs  against  him.  Falco  feels  in  his  pocket  for  a 
piece  of  bread,  but  he  finds  only  a  stone,  which  he 
throws  to  the  dog. 

The  dog  runs  after  the  stone  and  brings  it  back 
to  Falco.  Falco  throws  it  again.  The  dog  takes 
the  stone  again,  but  now  he  runs  away  with  it. 

Falco  remembers  that  it  is  the  stone  he  picked  up 
on  Mongibello,  and  goes  after  the  dog  to  get  it 
back.  He  whistles  to  the  dog,  and  it  comes  to  him 
instantly.  "  Drop  the  stone !  "  The  dog  puts  its 
head  on  one  side  and  will  not  drop  it.  "  Ah,  give 
me  the  stone,  rascal ! "  The  dog  shuts  its  mouth. 
It  has  no  stone.  "Let  me  see;  let  me  see!"  says 
Falco.  He  bends  the  dog's  head  back  and  forces  it 
to  open  its  mouth.  The  stone  lies  far  in  under  the 
gums,  and  Falco  tries  to  force  it  out.  Then  the 
dog  bites  him,  till  the  blood  flows. 

Falco  is  terrified.  He  goes  in  to  Donna  Silvia. 
"I  hope  your  dog  is  healthy,"  he  says. 

"My  dog?  I  have  no  dog.  It  is  dead."  — "But 
the  one  running  outside?  "  —  " I  do  not  know  which 
one  you  mean,"  she  says. 

Falco  says  nothing  more,  nor  does  he  do  Donna 


308          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Silvia  any  harm.  He  simply  goes  his  way,  fright- 
ened; he  thinks  that  the  dog  is  mad,  and  he  fears 
hydrophobia. 

One  evening  Donna  Micaela  sits  alone  in  the 
music-room.  She  has  put  out  the  lamp  and  opened 
the  balcony  doors.  She  likes  to  listen  to  the  street 
in  the  evening  and  at  night.  No  more  smiths  and 
stone-cutters  and  criers  are  heard.  There  is  song, 
laughter,  whispering,  and  mandolins. 

Suddenly  she  sees  a  dark  hand  laid  on  the  balcony 
railing.  The  hand  drags  up  after  it  an  arm  and  a 
head;  within  a  moment  a  whole  human  being  swings 
himself  into  the  balcony.  She  sees  him  plainly, 
for  the  street-lamps  are  still  burning.  He  is  a 
small,  broad-shouldered,  bearded  fellow,  dressed 
like  a  shepherd,  with  leather  sandals,  a  slouch  hat, 
and  an  umbrella  tied  to  his  back.  As  soon  as  he  is 
on  his  feet  he  snatches  his  gun  from  his  shoulder 
and  comes  into  the  room  with  it  in  his  hands. 

She  sits  still  without  giving  a  sign  of  life.  There 
is  no  time  either  to  summon  help  or  to  escape.  She 
hopes  that  the  man  will  take  what  he  wishes  to 
take,  and  go  away  without  noticing  her,  sitting  back 
in  the  dark  room. 

The  man  puts  his  gun  down  between  his  legs,  and 
she  hears  him  scratching  with  a  match.  She  shuts 
her  eyes.  He  will  believe  that  she  is  asleep. 

When  the  robber  gets  the  match  lighted,  he  sees 
her  instantly.  He  coughs  to  wake  her.  As  she 
remains  motionless,  he  creeps  over  to  her  and  care- 
fully stretches  out  a  finger  towards  her  arm.  "  Do 
not  touch  me !  do  not  touch  me ! "  she  screams,  and 
can  no  longer  sit  still.  The  man  draws  back  in- 


FALCO  FALCONE  309 

stantly.     "Dear  Donna  Micaela,  I  only  wanted  to 
wake  you." 

There  she  sits  and  shakes  with  terror,  and  he 
hears  how  she  is  sobbing.  "Dear  signora,  dear 
signora  !  "  he  says.  "  Light  a  candle  that  I  can  see 
where  you  are,"  she  cries.  He  scratches  a  new 
match,  lifts  the  shade  and  chimney  off  the  lamp, 
and  lights  it  as  neatly  as  a  servant.  He  places  him- 
self again  by  the  door,  as  far  from  her  as  possible. 
Suddenly  he  goes  out  on  the  balcony  with  his  gun. 
"Now  the  signora  cannot  be  afraid  any  longer." 

But  when  she  does  not  cease  weeping  he  says: 
"Signora,  I  am  Passafiore;  I  come  with  a  message 
to  you  from  Falco.  He  no  longer  wishes  to  destroy 
your  railway." 

"  Have  you  come  to  jest  with  me? "  she  says. 

Then  the  man  answers,  almost  weeping:  "Would 
God  that  it  were  a  jest !  God  !  that  Falco  were  the 
man  he  has  been  !  " 

He  tells  her  how  Falco  went  up  Mongibello  and 
crowned  its  top.  But  the  mountain  had  not  liked 
it;  it  had  now  overthrown  Falco.  A  single  little 
piece  of  pumice-stone  from  Mongibello  had  been 
enough  to  overthrow  him. 

"  It  is  all  over  with  Falco,"  says  Passafiore.  "  He 
goes  about  in  the  quarry,  and  waits  to  fall  ill.  For 
a  week  he  has  neither  slept  nor  eaten.  He  is  not 
sick  yet,  but  the  wound  in  his  hand  does  not  heal 
either.  He  thinks  that  he  has  the  poison  in  his 
body.  '  Soon  I  shall  be  a  mad  dog, '  he  says.  No 
wine  nor  food  tempt  him.  He  takes  no  pleasure  in 
my  praising  his  deeds.  '  What  is  that  to  talk 
about  ? '  he  says.  '  I  shall  end  my  life  like  a  mad 
dog. '  " 


310          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Donna  Micaela  looked  sharply  at  Passafiore. 
"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  about  it  ?  You  cannot 
mean  that  I  am  to  go  down  into  the  quarry  to  Falco 
Falcone  ? " 

Passafiore  looks  down  and  dares  not  answer  any- 
thing. 

She  explains  to  him  what  that  same  Falco  has 
made  her  suffer.  He  has  frightened  away  her  work- 
men. He  has  set  himself  against  her  dearest  wish. 

All  of  a  sudden  Passafiore  falls  on  his  knees.  He 
dares  not  go  a  step  nearer  to  her  than  he  is,  but  he 
falls  on  his  knees. 

He  implores  her  to  understand  the  importance  of 
it.  She  does  not  know,  she  does  not  understand 
who  Falco  is.  Falco  is  a  great  man.  Ever  since 
Passafiore  was  a  little  child  he  has  heard  of  him. 
All  his  life  long  he  has  longed  to  come  out  to  the 
quarry  and  live  with  him.  All  his  cousins  went  to 
Falco;  his  whole  race  were  with  him.  But  the 
priest  had  set  his  heart  that  Passafiore  should  not 
go.  He  apprenticed  him  to  a  tailor;  only  think,  to 
a  tailor!  He  talked  to  him,  and  said  that  he  should 
not  go.  It  was  such  a  terrible  sin  to  live  like  Falco. 
Passafiore  had  also  struggled  against  it  for  many 
years  for  Don  Matteo's  sake.  But  at  last  he  had 
not  been  able  to  resist ;  he  had  gone  to  the  quarry. 
And  now  he  has  not  been  with  Falco  more  than  a 
year  before  the  latter  is  quite  destroyed.  It  is  as 
if  the  sun  had  gone  out  in  the  sky.  His  whole  life 
is  ruined. 

Passafiore  looks  at  Donna  Micaela.  He  sees  that 
she  is  listening  to  him,  and  understands  him. 

He  reminds  Donna  Micaela  that  she  had  helped  a 
jettatore  and  an  adulteress.  Why  should  she  be  hard 


FALCO  FALCONE  31! 

to  a  brigand?  The  Christ-image  in  San  Pasquale 
gave  her  everything  she  asked  for.  He  was  sure 
that  she  prayed  to  the  Christchild  to  protect  the 
railway  from  Falco.  And  he  had  obeyed  her;  he 
had  made  Mongibello's  pumice-stone  break  Falco's 
might.  But  now,  would  she  not  be  gracious,  and 
help  them,  that  Falco  might  get  his  health  again, 
and  be  an  honor  to  the  land,  as  he  had  been  before  ? 

Passafiore  succeeds  in  moving  Donna  Micaela. 
All  at  once  she  understands  how  it  is  with  the  old 
brigand  in  the  dark  caves  of  the  quarry.  She  sees 
him  there,  waiting  for  madness.  She  thinks  how 
proud  he  has  been,  and  how  broken  and  crushed  he 
now  is.  No,  no ;  no  one  ought  to  suffer  so.  It  is 
too  much,  too  much. 

"  Passafiore,"  she  exclaims,  "  tell  me  what  you 
wish.  I  will  do  whatever  I  can.  I  am  no  longer 
afraid.  No,  I  am  not  at  all  afraid." 

"Donna  Micaela,  we  have  begged  Falco  to  go  to 
the  Christchild  and  ask  for  grace.  But  Falco  will 
not  believe  in  the  image.  He  will  not  do  anything 
but  sit  still  and  wait  for  the  disaster.  But  to-day, 
when  I  implored  him  to  go  and  pray,  he  said :  '  You 
know  who  sits  and  waits  for  me  in  the  old  house 
opposite  the  church.  Go  to  her,  and  ask  her  if 
she  will  give  me  the  privilege  to  go  by  her  into 
the  church.  If  she  gives  her  permission,  then  I 
shall  believe  in  the  image,  and  say  my  prayers  to 
him.'" 

"Well?"  questions  Donna  Micaela. 

"  I  have  been  to  old  Caterina,  and  she  has  given 
her  permission.  '  He  shall  be  allowed  to  go  into 
San  Pasquale  without  my  killing  him,'  she  said." 

Passafiore  is  still  on  his  knees. 


312          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"  Has  Falco  already  been  to  the  church  ? "  asks 
Donna  Micaela. 

Passafiore  moves  somewhat  nearer.  He  wrings 
his  hands  in  despair.  "Donna  Micaela,  Falco  is 
very  ill.  It  is  not  alone  that  about  the  dog;  he  was 
ill  before."  And  Passafiore  struggles  with  himself 
before  he  can  say  it  out.  At  last  he  acknowledges 
that  although  Falco  is  a  very  great  man,  he  some- 
times has  attacks  of  madness.  He  had  not  spoken 
of  old  Caterina  alone ;  he  had  said :  "  If  Caterina 
will  let  me  go  into  the  church,  and  if  Donna  Micaela 
Alagona  comes  down  into  the  quarry  and  gives  me 
her  hand,  and  leads  me  to  the  church,  I  will  go  to 
the  image."  And  from  that  no  one  had  been  able 
to  move  him.  Donna  Micaela,  who  was  greatest 
and  hdliest  of  women,  must  come  to  him,  or  he 
would  not  go. 

When  Passafiore  has  finished,  he  remains  kneel- 
ing with  bowed  head.  He  dares  not  look  up. 

But  Donna  Micaela  does  not  hesitate  a  second, 
since  there  has  been  question  of  the  Christ-image. 
She  seems  not  to  think  of  Falco's  being  already 
mad.  She  does  not  say  a  word  of  her  terror.  Her 
faith  in  the  image  is  such  that  she  answers  softly, 
like  a  subdued  and  obedient  child  :  — 

"Passafiore,  I  will  go  with  you." 

She  follows  him  as  if  walking  in  her  sleep.  She 
does  not  hesitate  to  go  with  him  up  Etna.  She 
does  not  hesitate  to  climb  down  the  steep  cliffs  into 
the  quarry.  She  comes,  pale  as  death,  but  with 
shining  eyes,  to  the  old  brigand  in  his  hole  in  the 
cliff  and  gives  him  her  hand.  He  rises  up,  ghastly 
pale  as  she,  and  follows  her.  They  do  not  seem  like 
human  beings,  but  like  spectres.  They  move  on 


FALCO  FALCONE  313 

towards  their  goal  in  absolute  silence.  Their  own 
identity  is  dead,  but  a  mightier  spirit  guides  and 
leads  them. 

Even  the  day  after  it  seems  like  a  fairy  tale  to 
Donna  Micaela  that  she  has  done  such  a  thing. 
She  is  sure  that  her  own  compassion,  or  pity,  or 
love  could  never  have  made  her  go  down  into  the 
brigands'  cave  at  night  if  a  strange  power  had  not 
led  her. 

While  Donna  Micaela  is  in  the  robber's  cave,  old 
Caterina  sits  at  her  window,  and  waits  for  Falco. 
She  has  consented,  almost  without  their  needing  to 
ask  her. 

"He  shall  go  in  peace  to  the  church,"  she  says. 
"  I  have  waited  for  him  twenty  years,  but  he  shall 
go  to  the  church." 

Soon  Falco  comes  by,  walking  with  Donna  Mi- 
caela's  hand  in  his.  Passafiore  and  Biagio  follow 
him.  Falco  is  bent;  it  is  plain  that  he  is  old  and 
feeble.  He  alone  goes  into  the  church;  the  others 
remain  outside. 

Old  Caterina  has  seen  him  very  plainly,  but  she 
has  not  moved.  She  sits  silent  all  the  time  Falco 
is  inside  the  church.  Her  niece,  who  lives  with 
her,  believes  that  she  is  praying  and  thanking  God 
because  she  has  been  able  to  conquer  her  thirst  for 
revenge. 

At  last  Caterina  asks  her  to  open  a  window.  "I 
wish  to  see  if  he  still  has  his  snake  shadow,"  she 
says. 

But  she  is  gentle  and  friendly.  "  Take  the  gun, 
if  you  wish,"  she  says.  And  her  niece  moves  the 
gim  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

At  last  Falco  comes  from  the  church.     The  moon- 


3 M          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

light  falls  on  his  face,  and  Caterina  sees  that  he  is 
unlike  the  Falco  she  remembered.  The  terrible 
moroseness  and  arrogance  are  no  longer  visible  in 
his  face.  He  comes  bent  and  broken;  he  almost 
inspires  her  with  pity. 

"  He  helps  me,"  he  says  aloud  to  Passafiore  and 
Biagio.  "  He  has  promised  to  help  me." 

The  brigands  wish  to  go,  but  Falco  is  so  happy 
lhat  he  must  first  tell  them  of  his  joy. 

"  I  feel  no  buzzing  in  my  head;  there  is  no  burn- 
ing, no  uneasiness.  He  is  helping  me." 

His  comrades  take  him  by  the  hand  to  lead  him 
away. 

Falco  goes  a  few  steps,  then  stops  again.  He 
straightens  himself  up,  and  at  the  same  time  moves 
his  body  so  that  the  snake  shadow  writhes  and 
twists  on  the  wall. 

"  I  shall  be  quite  well,  quite  well,"  he  says. 

The  men  drag  him  away,  but  it  is  too  late. 

Caterina's  eyes  have  fallen  on  the  snake  shadow. 
She  can  control  herself  no  longer;  she  throws  her- 
self across  the  table,  takes  the  gun,  shoots  and  kills 
Falco.  She  had  not  intended  to  do  it,  but  when 
she  saw  him  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  let  him 
go.  She  had  cherished  the  thought  of  revenge  for 
twenty  years.  It  took  the  upper  hand  over  her. 

"  Caterina,  Caterina,"  screams  her  niece. 

"  He  only  asked  me  to  be  allowed  to  go  in  peace 
into  the  church,"  answers  the  old  woman. 

Old  Biagio  lays  Falco's  body  straight,  and  say* 
with  a  grim  look :  — 

"  He  would  be  quite  well ;   quite  well." 


VICTORY  315 


XI 

VICTORY 

FAR  back  in  ancient  days  the  great  philosopher 
Empedokles  lived  in  Sicily.  He  was  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  most  perfect  of  men ;  so  wonderful 
and  so  wise  that  the  people  regarded  him  as  an 
incarnate  god. 

Empedokles  owned  a  country-place  on  Etna,  and 
one  evening  he  prepared  a  feast  there  for  his  friends. 
During  the  repast  he  spoke  such  words  that  they 
cried  out  to  him :  "  Thou  art  a  god,  Empedokles ; 
thou  art  a  god ! "  * 

During  the  night  Empedokles  thought :  "  You 
have  risen  as  high  as  you  can  rise  on  earth.  Now 
die,  before  adversity  and  feebleness  take  hold  of 
you."  And  he  wandered  up  to  the  summit  of  Etna 
and  threw  himself  into  the  burning  crater.  "When 
no  one  can  find  my  body,"  he  thought,  "the  people 
will  say  that  I  have  been  taken  up  alive  to  the 
gods." 

The  next  morning  his  friends  searched  for  him 
through  the  villa  and  on  the  mountain.  They  too 
came  up  to  the  crater,  and  there  they  found  by  the 
crater's  mouth  Empedokles'  sandal.  They  under- 
stood that  Empedokles  had  sought  death  in  the 
crater  in  order  to  be  counted  among  the  immortals. 

He  would  have  succeeded  had  not  the  mountain 
cast  up  his  shoe. 


3l6         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

But  on  account  of  that  story  Empedokles'  name 
has  never  been  forgotten,  and  many  have  wondered 
where  his  villa  could  have  been  situated.  Anti- 
quaries and  treasure-seekers  have  looked  for  it;  for 
the  villa  of  the  wonderful  Empedokles  was  naturally 
filled  with  marble  statues,  bronzes,  and  mosaics. 

Donna  Micaela's  father,  Cavaliere  Palmeri,  had 
set  his  heart  on  solving  the  problem  of  the  villa. 
Every  morning  he  mounted  his  pony,  Domenico, 
and  rode  away  to  search  for  it.  He  was  armed  as 
an  investigator,  with  a  scraper  in  his  belt,  a  spade 
at  his  side,  and  a  big  knapsack  on  his  back. 

Every  evening,  when  Cavaliere  Palmeri  came 
home,  he  told  Donna  Micaela  about  Domenico. 
During  the  years  that  they  had  ridden  about  on 
Etna,  Domenico  had  become  an  antiquary.  Domenico 
turned  from  the  road  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  a 
ruin.  He  stamped  on  the  ground  in  places  where 
excavations  should  be  made.  He  snorted  scornfully 
and  turned  away  his  head  if  any  one  showed  him  a 
counterfeit  piece  of  old  money. 

Donna  Micaela  listened  with  great  patience  and 
interest.  She  was  sure  that  in  case  that  villa  finally 
did  let  itself  be  found  Domenico  would  get  all  the 
glory  of  the  discovery. 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  never  asked  his  daughter  about 
her  undertaking.  He  never  showed  any  interest  in 
the  railway.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  were  igno- 
rant that  she  was  working  for  it. 

It  was  not  singular  however;  he  never  showed 
interest  in  anything  that  concerned  his  daughter. 

One  day,  as  they  both  sat  at  the  dining-table, 
Donna  Micaela  all  at  once  began  to  talk  of  the 
railway. 


VICTORY  317 

She  had  won  a  victory,  she  said ;  she  had  finally 
won  a  victory. 

He  must  hear  what  news  she  had  received  that 
day.  It  was  not  merely  to  be  a  railway  between 
Catania  and  Diamante,  as  sh»  first  had  thought;  it 
was  to  be  a  railway  round  the  whole  of  Etna. 

By  Falco's  death  she  had  not  only  been  rid  of 
Falco  himself,  but  now  the  people  believed  also 
that  the  great  Mongibello  and  all  the  saints  were 
on  her  side.  And  so  there  had  arisen  an  agitation 
of  the  people  to  make  the  railway  an  actuality. 
Contributions  were  signed  in  all  the  towns  of  Etna. 
A  company  was  formed.  To-day  the  concession  had 
come ;  to-morrow  the  work  was  to  begin  in  earnest. 

Donna  Micaela  was  excited;  she  could  not  eat 
Her  heart  swelled  with  joy  and  thankfulness.  She 
could  not  help  talking  of  the  tremendous  enthusiasm 
that  had  seized  the  people.  She  spoke  with  tears 
in  her  eyes  of  the  Christchild  in  the  church  of  San 
Pasquale. 

It  was  touching  to  see  how  her  face  shone  with 
hope.  It  was  as  if  she  had,  besides  the  happiness 
of  which  she  was  speaking,  a  whole  world  of  bliss 
in  expectation. 

That  evening  she  felt  that  Providence  had  guided 
her  well  and  happily.  She  perceived  that  Gaetano's 
imprisonment  had  been  the  work  of  God  to  lead 
him  back  to  faith.  He  would  be  set  free  by  the 
miracles  of  the  little  image,  and  that  would  convert 
him  so  that  he  would  become  a  believer  as  before. 
And  she  might  be  his.  How  good  God  was! 

And  while  this  great  bliss  stirred  within  her, 
her  father  sat  opposite  her  quite  cold  and  indifferent. 

"  It  was  very  extraordinary,"  was  all  he  said. 


318          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"You  will  come  to-morrow  to  the  ceremony  of 
the  laying  of  the  foundations  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know;  I  have  my  investigations." 

Donna  Micaela  began  to  crumble  her  bread  rather 
hastily.  Her  patience  was  exhausted.  She  had 
not  asked  him  to  share  her  sorrows,  but  her  joys; 
he  must  share  her  joys ! 

All  at  once  the  shackles  of  submission  and  fear, 
which  had  bound  her  ever  since  the  time  of  his 
imprisonment,  broke. 

"You  who  ride  so  much  about  Etna,"  she  said 
with  a  very  quiet  voice,  "must  have  also  come  to 
Gela?" 

The  cavaliere  looked  up  and  seemed  to  search  his 
memory.  "  Gela,  Gela  ? " 

"  Gela  is  a  village  of  a  hundred  houses,  which  is 
situated  on  the  southern  side  of  Monte  Chiaro,  quite 
at  its  foot,"  continued  Donna  Micaela,  with  the  most 
innocent  expression.  "  It  is  squeezed  in  between 
Simeto  and  the  mountain,  and  a  branch  of  the  river 
generally  flows  through  the  principal  street  of  Gela 
so  that  it  is  very  unusual  to  be  able  to  pass  dry- 
shod  through  the  village.  The  roof  of  the  church 
fell  in  during  the  last  earthquake,  and  it  has  never 
been  mended,  for  Gela  is  quite  destitute.  Have 
you  really  never  heard  of  Gela?" 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  answered  with  inexpressible 
solemnity:  "My  investigations  have  taken  me  up 
the  mountain.  I  have  not  thought  of  looking  for 
the  great  philosopher's  villa  in  Gela." 

"But  Gela  is  an  interesting  town,"  said  Donna 
Micaela,  obstinately.  "  They  have  no  separate  out- 
houses there.  The  pigs  live  on  the  lower  floor,  the 
people  one  flight  up.  There  is  an  endless  number 


VICTORY  319 

of  pigs  in  Gela.  They  thrive  better  than  the 
people,  for  the  people  are  almost  always  sick. 
Fever  is  always  raging  there;  malaria  never  leaves 
it.  It  is  so  damp  that  the  cellars  are  always  under 
water,  and  it  is  wrapped  in  swamp  mists  every 
night.  In  Gela  there  are  no  shops  and  no  police, 
nor  post-office,  nor  doctor,  nor  apothecary.  Six 
hundred  people  are  living  there  forgotten  and  brutal- 
ized. You  have  never  heard  of  Gela?  "  She  looked 
honestly  surprised. 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  shook  his  head.  "Of  course 
I  have  heard  the  name  —  " 

Donna  Micaela  cast  a  questioning  glance  on  her 
father.  She  then  bent  quickly  forward  towards 
him,  and  drew  out  of  his  breastpocket  a  small,  bent 
knife,  such  a  knife  as  is  used  to  prune  grape-vines. 

"Poor  Empedokles, "  she  said,  and  all  at  once  her 
wh9le  face  sparklejd  with  fun.  "You  may  believe 
you  have  mounted  to  the  gods,  but  Etna  always 
throws  up  your  shoe." 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  sank  back  as  if  shot. 

"Micaela!  "  he  said,  feebly  fencing  like  some  one 
who  who  does  not  know  how  he  shall  defend  himself. 

But  she  was  instantly  as  serious  and  innocent  as 
before.  "I  have  been  told,"  she  said,  "that  Gela 
a  few  years  ago  was  on  the  way  to  ruin.  All  the 
people  there  grow  grapes,  and  when  the  phylloxera 
came  and  destroyed  their  vineyards,  they  almost 
starved  to  death.  The  Agricultural  Society  sent 
them  some  of  those  American  plants  that  are  not 
affected  by  the  phylloxera.  The  people  of  Gela  set 
them  out,  but  all  the  plants  died.  How  could  the 
people  of  Gela  know  how  to  tend  American  vines  ? 
Well,  some  one  came  and  taught  them." 


320          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"  Micaela ! "  —  it  came  almost  like  a  wail.  Donna 
Micaela  thought  that  her  father  already  looked  like 
a  conquered  man,  but  she  continued  as  if  she  had 
noticed  nothing. 

"  Some  one  came"  she  said  with  strong  emphasis, 
"and  he  had  had  new  vines  sent  out.  He  began  to 
plant  them  in  their  vineyards.  They  laughed  at 
him;  they  said  that  he  was  mad.  But  look,  his 
vines  grew  and  lived;  they  did  not  die.  And  he 
has  saved  Gela." 

"I  do  not  think  that  your  story  is  entertaining, 
Micaela,"  said  Cavaliere  Palmeri  with  an  attempt  to 
interrupt  her. 

"  It  is  quite  as  entertaining  as  your  investiga- 
tions," she  said,  calmly.  "But  I  will  tell  you 
something.  One  day  I  went  into  your  room  to  get 
a  book  on  antiquities.  Then  I  found  that  all  your 
bookshelves  were  full  of  pamphlets  about  the  phyl- 
loxera, about  the  cultivation  of  grapes,  about  wine- 
making." 

The  cavaliere  twisted  on  his  chair  like  a  worm. 
"Be  silent;  be  silent!"  he  said  feebly.  He  was 
more  embarrassed  than  when  he  was  accused  of 
theft. 

Now  all  the  suppressed  fun  shone  once  more  in 
her  eyes. 

"I  sometimes  looked  at  the  letters  you  sent  off," 
she  continued.  "  I  wished  to  see  with  what  learned 
men  you  corresponded.  It  surprised  me  that  the 
letters  were  always  addressed  to  presidents  and 
secretaries  of  Agricultural  Societies." 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  was  unable  to  utter  a  word. 
Donna  Micaela  enjoyed  his  helplessness  more  than 
can  be  described. 


VICTORY  321 

She  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "I  do  not 
believe  that  Domenico  has  yet  learned  to  recognize 
a  ruin,"  she  said  with  emphasis.  "The  dirty  chil- 
dren of  Gela  play  with  him  every  day,  and  feed  him 
with  water-cresses.  Domenico  seems  to  be  a  god  in 
Gela,  to  say  nothing  of  his  —  " 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  seemed  to  have  an  idea. 

"Your  railway,"  he  said;  "what  did  you  say 
about  your  railway?  Perhaps  I  really  can  come 
to-morrow. " 

Donna  Micaela  did  not  listen  to  him.  She  took 
up  her  pocket-book. 

"I  have  here  a  counterfeit  old  coin,"  she  said, 
—  "a  'Demarata'  of  nickel.  I  bought  it  to  show 
Domenico.  He  is  going  to  snort." 

"  Listen,  child !  " 

She  did  not  answer  his  attempts  to  make  amends. 
Now  the  power  was  hers.  It  would  take  more  than 
that  to  pacify  her. 

"Once  I  opened  your  knapsack  to  look  at  your 
antiquities.  The  only  thing  there  was  an  old  grape- 
vine." 

She  was  full  of  sparkling  gayety. 

"Child,  child!" 

"What  is  it  to  be  called?  It  does  not  seem  to 
be  investigating.  Is  it  perhaps  charity;  is  it  per- 
haps atonement  —  " 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  struck  with  his  clenched  fist  on 
the  table  so  that  the  glasses  and  plates  rang.  It 
was  unbearable.  A  dignified  and  solemn  old  gentle- 
man could  not  endure  such  mockery.  "As  surely 
as  you  are  my  daughter,  you  must  be  silent  now." 

"  Your  daughter ! "  she  said,  and  her  gayety  was 
gone  in  an  instant;  "am  I  really  your  daughter? 

21 


322          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

The  children  in  Gela  are  allowed  to  caress  at  least 
Domenico,  but  I  —  " 

"  What  do  you  wish,  Micaela,  what  do  you  want? " 

They  looked  at  one  another,  and  their  eyes  simul- 
taneously filled  with  tears. 

"  I  have  no  one  but  you,"  she  murmured. 

Cavaliere  Palmeri  opened  his  arms  uncondition- 
ally to  her.  She  rose  hesitatingly;  she  did  not 
know  if  she  saw  right. 

"I  know  how  it  is  going  to  be,"  he  said,  grumb- 
lingly;  "not  one  minute  will  I  have  to  myself." 

"To  find  the  villa?" 

"Come  here  and  kiss  me,  Micaela!  To-night  is 
the  first  time  since  we  left  Catania  that  you  have 
been  irresistible." 

When  she  threw  her  arms  about  him  it  was  with 
a  hoarse,  wild  cry  which  almost  frightened  him. 


THIRD    BOOK 

And  he  shall  win  many  followers 


THE  OASIS  AND  THE   DESERT 

IN  the  spring  of  1894  the  Etna  railway  was  begun; 
in  the  autumn  of  1895  it  was  finished.  It  went  up 
from  the  shore,  made  a  circuit  round  the  mountain 
in  a  wide  half-circle,  and  came  down  again  to  the 
shore. 

Trains  come  and  go  every  day,  and  Mongibello 
lies  subdued  and  makes  no  sign.  Foreigners  pass 
with  amazement  through  the  black,  distorted  lava 
streams,  through  the  groves  of  white  almond-trees, 
through  the  dark  old  Saracen  towns.  "  Look,  look  ! 
is  there  such  a  land  on  earth ! "  they  say. 

In  the  railway  carriages  there  is  always  some  one 
telling  of  the  time  when  the  Christ-image  was  in 
Diamante. 

What  a  time!  What  a  time!  Each  day  new 
miracles  were  performed.  They  cannot  tell  of  them 
all,  but  he  brought  as  much  happiness  to  Diamante 
as  if  the  hours  of  the  day  had  been  dancing  maidens. 
People  thought  that  Time  had  filled  his  hour-glass 
with  shining  sands  of  gold. 


324          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

If  any  one  had  asked  who  reigned  in  Diamante  at 
that  time,  the  answer  would  have  been  that  it  was 
the  Christ-image.  Everything  was  done  according 
to  his  will.  No  one  took  a  wife,  or  played  in  a 
lottery,  or  built  himself  a  house  without  consulting 
him. 

Many  knife-thrusts  were  spared  for  the  image's 
sake,  many  old  feuds  settled,  and  many  bitter  words 
were  never  uttered. 

The  people  had  to  be  good,  for  they  observed  that 
the  image  helped  those  who  were  peaceable  and 
helpful.  To  them  he  granted  the  pleasant  gifts  of 
happiness  and  riches. 

If  the  world  had  been  as  it  ought  to  be,  Diamante 
would  soon  have  become  a  rich  and  powerful  town. 
But  instead,  that  part  of  the  world  which  did  not 
believe  in  the  image  destroyed  all  his  work.  All 
the  happiness  he  scattered  about  him  was  of  no 
avail. 

The  taxes  were  constantly  increased,  and  took  all 
their  money.  There  was  the  war  in  Africa.  How 
could  the  people  be  happy  when  their  sons,  their 
money,  and  their  mules  had  to  go  to  Africa?  The 
war  did  not  go  well ;  one  defeat  followed  another. 
How  could  they  be  happy  when  their  country's  honor 
was  at  stake  ? 

Especially  after  the  railway  had  been  finished  was 
it  manifest  that  Diamante  was  like  an  oasis  in  a 
great  desert.  An  oasis  is  exposed  to  the  drifting 
sands  of  the  desert  and  to  robbers  and  wild  beasts. 
So  was  also  Diamante.  The  oasis  would  have  to 
spread  over  the  whole  desert  to  feel  secure.  Diamante 
began  to  believe  that  it  could  never  be  happy  until 
the  whole  world  worshipped  its  Christ-image. 


THE  OASIS  AND   THE  DESERT          32$ 

It  now  happened  that  everything  that  Diamante 
hoped  and  strove  for  was  denied  it. 

Donna  Micaela  and  all  Diamante  longed  to  get 
Gaetano  back.  When  the  railway  was  ready  Donna 
Micaela  went  to  Rome  and  asked  for  his  release, 
but  it  was  refused  her.  The  king  and  the  queen 
would  have  liked  to  help  her,  but  they  could  not. 
You  know  who  was  minister  then.  He  ruled  Italy 
with  a  hand  of  iron ;  do  you  think  that  he  allowed 
the  king  to  pardon  a  rebellious  Sicilian? 

The  people  also  longed  that  the  Christ-child  of 
Diamante  should  have  the  adoration  that  was  his 
due,  and  Donna  Micaela  sought  an  audience  for  his 
sake  with  the  old  man  in  the  Vatican.  "Holy 
Father,"  she  said,  "let  me  tell  you  what  has  been 
taking  place  in  Diamante  on  the  slopes  of  Etna!" 
And  when  she  had  told  of  all  the  miracles  performed 
by  the  image,  she  asked  the  pope  to  have  the  old 
church  of  San  Pasquale  purified  and  consecrated, 
and  to  appoint  a  priest  for  the  worship  of  the  Christ- 
child. 

"Dear  Princess  Micaela,"  said  the  pope,  "those 
incidents  of  which  you  speak,  the  church  dares  not 
consider  miracles.  But  you  need  not  at  all  despair. 
If  the  Christchild  wishes  to  be  worshipped  in  your 
town,  he  will  give  one  more  sign.  He  will  show 
Us  his  will  so  plainly  that  We  shall  not  need  to 
hesitate.  And  forgive  an  old  man,  my  daughter, 
because  he  has  to  be  cautious ! " 

A  third  thing  the  people  of  Diamante  had  hoped. 
They  had  expected  at  last  to  hear  something  from 
Gaetano.  Donna  Micaela  journeyed  also  to  Como, 
where  he  was  held  prisoner.  She  had  letters  of 
recommendation  from  the  highest  quarters  in  Rome, 


326          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

and  she  was  sure  that  she  would  be  allowed  to  speak 
to  him.  But  the  director  of  the  prison  sent  her  to 
the  prison  doctor. 

The  latter  forbade  her  to  speak  to  Gaetano. 

"You  wish  to  see  the  prisoner?  "  he  said.  "You 
shall  not  do  it.  Do  you  say  that  he  loves  you  and 
believes  you  to  be  dead?  Let  him  think  it!  Let 
him  believe  it !  He  has  bowed  his  head  to  Death. 
He  suffers  no  longing.  Do  you  wish  him  to  know 
that  you  are  alive,  so  that  he  may  begin  to  long? 
You  wish,  perhaps,  to  kill  him?  I  will  tell  you 
something;  if  he  begins  to  long  for  life,  he  will  be 
dead  within  three  months." 

He  spoke  so  positively  that  Donna  Micaela  under- 
stood that  she  must  give  up  seeing  Gaetano.  But 
what  a  disappointment,  what  a  disappointment ! 

When  she  came  home,  she  felt  like  one  who  has 
dreamt  so  vividly  that  he  cannot,  even  after  he  is 
awake,  rouse  himself  from  his  visions.  She  could 
not  realize  that  all  her  hopes  had  been  a  mockery. 
She  surprised  herself  time  after  time  thinking: 
"When  I  have  saved  Gaetano."  But  now  she  no 
longer  had  any  hope  of  saving  him. 

She  thought  now  of  one,  now  of  another  enter- 
prise, on  which  she  wished  to  embark.  Should  she 
drain  the  plain,  or  should  she  begin  to  quarry  marble 
on  Etna.  She  hesitated  and  wondered.  She  could 
not  keep  her  mind  on  anything. 

The  same  indolence  that  had  taken  possession  of 
Donna  Micaela  crept  through  the  whole  town.  It 
was  soon  plain  that  everything  that  depended  on 
people  who  did  not  believe  in  the  Christchild  of 
Diamante  was  badly  managed  and  unsuccessful. 
Even  the  Etna  railway  was  conducted  in  the  wron^ 


THE   OASIS  AND   THE  DESERT  327 

way.  Accidents  were  happening  constantly  on  the 
steep  inclines;  and  the  price  of  the  tickets  was 
too  high.  The  people  began  to  use  the  omnibuses 
and  post  wagons  again. 

Donna  Micaela  and  others  with  her  began  to 
think  of  carrying  the  Christ-image  out  into  the 
world.  They  would  go  out  and  show  how  he  gave 
health  and  subsistence  and  happiness  to  all  who 
were  quiet  and  industrious  and  helped  their  neigh- 
bor. If  people  could  once  see,  they  would  certainly 
be  converted. 

"The  image  ought  to  stand  on  the  Capitol  and 
govern  the  world,"  said  the  people  of  Diamante. 

"All  those  who  govern  us  are  incapable,"  said 
the  people.  "  We  prefer  to  be  guided  by  the  holy 
Christchild." 

"The  Christchild  is  powerful  and  charitable;  if 
he  ruled  us,  the  poor  would  be  rich,  and  the  rich 
would  have  enough.  He  knows  who  wish  to  do 
right.  If  he  should  come  to  power,  they  who  now 
are  ruled  would  sit  in  the  parliament.  He  would 
pass  through  the  world  like  a  plough  with  a  sharp 
edge,  and  that  which  now  lies  unprofitable  in  the 
depths  would  then  bear  harvests." 

Before  their  longed-for  plans  came  to  pass,  how- 
ever, in  the  first  days  of  March,  1896,  the  news  of 
the  battle  at  Adna  arrived.  The  Italians  had  been 
defeated,  and  several  thousands  of  them  were  killed 
or  taken  prisoners. 

A  few  days  later  there  was  a  change  of  ministry 
in  Rome.  And  the  man  who  came  to  power  was 
afraid  of  the  rage  and  despair  of  the  Sicilians.  To 
pacify  them  he  pardoned  out  several  of  the  imprisoned 
socialists.  The  five  for  whom  he  thought  the  people 


328          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

longed  most  were  set  free.  They  were  Da  Felice, 
Bosco,  Verro,  Barbato  and  Alagona. 

Ah,  Micaela  tried  to  be  glad  when  she  heard  it. 
She  tried  not  to  weep. 

She  had  believed  that  Gaetano  was  in  prison 
because  the  Christ-image  was  to  break  down  the 
walls  of  his  cell.  He  was  sent  there  by  the  grace 
of  God,  because  he  had  to  be  forced  to  bow  his  head 
before  the  Christchild  and  say:  "My  Lord  and  my 
God." 

But  now  it  was  not  the  image  which  had  freed 
him ;  he  would  come  out  the  same  heathen  as 
before ;  the  same  yawning  chasm  would  still  exist 
between  them. 

She  tried  to  be  glad.  It  was  enough  that  he  was 
free.  What  did  she  or  her  happiness  matter  in 
comparison  to  that ! 

But  it  happened  so  with  everything  for  which 
Diamante  had  hoped  and  striven. 

The  great  desert  was  very  cruel  to  the  poor  oasis. 


IN  PALERMO  329 


II 

IN   PALERMO 

AT  last,  at  last,  it  is  one  o'clock  at  night.  Those 
who  are  afraid  to  oversleep  rise  from  their  beds, 
dress  themselves  and  go  out  into  the  street. 

And  those  who  have  sat  and  hung  over  a  caf6 
table  till  now  start  up  when  they  hear  steps  echo  on 
the  stone  pavements.  They  shake  the  drowsiness 
from  their  bodies  and  hurry  out.  They  mingle  in 
the  swiftly  increasing  stream  of  people,  and  the 
heavy  feet  of  Time  begin  to  move  a  little  faster. 

Mere  acquaintances  press  each  other's  hands  with 
heartfelt  warmth.  It  is  plain  that  the  same  enthu- 
siasm fills  all  souls.  And  the  most  absurd  people 
are  out ;  old  university  professors,  distinguished 
noblemen  and  fine  ladies,  who  otherwise  never  set 
their  foot  in  the  street.  They  are  all  equally 
joyous. 

"  God  !  God !  that  he  is  coming,  that  Palermo  is  to 
have  him  back  again ! "  they  say. 

The  Palermo  students,  who  have  not  moved  from 
their  usual  headquarters  in  Quattro  Canti  all  night, 
have  provided  torches  and  colored  lanterns.  They 
were  not  to  be  lighted  till  four  o'clock,  when  the 
man  they  expected  was  to  come;  but  about  two 
o'clock  one  or  two  of  them  begin  to  try  whether 
their  torches  burn  well.  Then  they  light  every- 
thing and  greet  the  flames  with  cheers.  It  is  impos- 


330          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

sible  to  stand  in  darkness  when  so  much  joy  is 
burning  within  them. 

In  the  hotels  the  travellers  are  waked  and  urged 
to  get  up.  "There  is  a  festival  in  Palermo  to-night, 
O  signori ! " 

The  travellers  ask  for  whom.  "For  one  of  the 
socialists  whom  the  government  has  pardoned  out  of 
prison.  He  is  coming  now  in  the  steamer  from 
Naples."  — "What  kind  of  a  man  is  he?"  — "His 
name  is  Bosco,  and  the  people  love  him." 

There  are  preparations  everywhere  in  the  night 
for  his  sake.  One  of  the  goatherds  on  Monte 
Pellegrino  is  busy  tying  little  bunches  of  blue-bells 
for  his  goats  to  wear  in  their  collars.  And  as  he 
has  a  hundred  goats,  and  they  all  wear  collars  — 
But  it  must  be  done.  His  goats  could  not  wander 
into  Palermo  the  next  morning  without  being 
adorned  in  honor  of  the  day. 

The  dressmakers  have  had  to  sit  at  their  work 
till  midnight  to  finish  all  the  new  dresses  that  are 
to  be  worn  that  morning.  And  when  such  a  little 
dressmaker  has  finished  her  work  for  others,  she 
has  to  think  of  herself.  She  puts  a  couple  of  plumes 
in  her  hat  and  piles  up  bunches  of  ribbon  a  yard 
high.  To-day  she  must  be  beautiful. 

The  long  rows  of  houses  begin  to  be  illuminated. 
Here  and  there  a  rocket  whizzes  up.  Fire-crackers 
hiss  and  snap  at  every  street  corner. 

The  flower  shops  along  Via  Vittorio  Emanuele 
are  emptied  again  and  again.  Always  more,  more 
of  the  white  orange-blossoms!  All  Palermo  is 
filled  with  the  sweet  fragrance  of  the  orange- 
blossoms. 

The  gate-keeper  in  Bosco' s  house  has  no  peace 


IN  PALERMO  331 

for  a  moment.  Magnificent  cakes  and  towerlike 
bouquets  are  incessantly  passing  up  the  stairway, 
and  poems  of  welcome  and  telegrams  of  congratu- 
lation are  constantly  coming.  There  is  no  end  to 
them. 

The  poor  bronze  emperor  on  the  Piazza  Bologna, 
poor,  ugly  Charles  the  Fifth,  who  is  forlorn  and 
thin  and  wretched  as  San  Giovanni  in  the  desert, 
has  in  some  inscrutable  manner  got  a  bunch  of 
flowers  in  his  hand.  When  the  students  standing 
on  Quattro  Canti,  quite  near  by,  hear  of  it,  they 
march  up  to  the  emperor  in  a  procession,  light  him 
with  their  torches,  and  raise  a  cheer  for  the  old 
despot.  And  one  of  them  takes  his  bunch  of 
flowers  to  give  it  to  the  great  socialist. 

Then  the  students  march  down  to  the  harbor. 

Long  before  they  get  there  their  torches  are 
burnt  out,  but  they  do  not  care.  They  come  with 
arms  about  each  other's  necks,  singing  loudly,  and 
sometimes  breaking  off  in  their  song  to  shout: 
"Down  with  Crispi !  Long  live  Bosco!"  The 
song  begins  again,  but  it  is  again  broken  off, 
because  those  who  cannot  sing  throw  their  arms 
round  the  singers  and  kiss  them. 

Guilds  and  corporations  swarm  out  of  the  quarters 
of  the  town  where  the  same  trade  has  been  carried 
on  for  more  than  a  thousand  years.  The  masons 
come  with  their  band  of  music  and  their  banner; 
there  come  the  workers  in  mosaic;  here  come  the 
fishermen. 

When  the  societies  meet,  they  salute  one  another 
with  their  banners.  Sometimes  they  take  time  to 
stop  and  make  speeches.  Then  they  tell  of  the  five 
released  prisoners,  the  five  martyrs  whom  the  gov« 


33 2          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

ernment  at  last  has  given  back  to  Sicily.  And  all 
the  people  shout:  "Long  live  Bosco!  Long  live 
Da  Felice !  Long  live  Verro !  Long  live  Barbato ! 
Long  live  Alagona ! " 

If  any  one  who  has  had  enough  of  the  life  in  the 
streets  comes  down  to  the  harbor  of  Palermo,  he 
stops  and  asks:  "What  place  is  this?  Madonna 
Santissima,  where  am  I?" 

For  he  has  expected  to  find  the  harbor  still 
deserted  and  dark. 

All  the  boats  and  skiffs  in  the  harbor  of  Palermo 
have  been  taken  by  different  societies  and  unions. 
They  are  floating  about  in  the  harbor,  richly  hung 
with  colored  Venetian  lights,  and  every  minute 
great  bunches  of  rockets  are  sent  up  from  them. 

Over  the  heavy  thwarts  priceless  rugs  and  hang- 
ings have  been  spread,  and  on  them  sit  ladies,  the 
beautiful  Palermo  ladies,  dressed  in  light  silks  and 
shaded  velvets. 

The  small  craft  glide  about  on  the  water,  now  in 
big  groups,  now  separately.  From  the  big  ships 
rise  masts  and  oars  covered  with  pennants  and 
lights,  and  the  little  harbor  steam-launches  dart 
about  with  funnels  wreathed  in  flowers. 

Beneath  it  all  the  water  lies  and  shines  and 
mirrors  and  reflects,  so  that  the  light  from  one 
lantern  becomes  a  stream  of  brightness,  and  the 
drops  that  fall  from  the  oars  are  like  a  rain  of  gold. 

Round  about  the  harbor  stand  a  hundred  thou- 
sand, a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people,  quite 
delirious  with  joy.  They  kiss  one  another;  they 
raise  shouts  of  rapture,  and  they  are  happy,  happy. 
They  are  beside  themselves  with  joy.  Many  of 
them  cannot  keep  from  weeping. 


IN  PALERMO  333 

Fire,  that  is  joy.  It  is  good  that  fires  can  be 
lighted.  Suddenly  a  great  blaze  flames  up  on 
Monte  Pellegrino,  just  over  the  harbor.  Mighty 
flames  burst  from  all  the  pointed  mountain  walls 
surrounding  the  town.  There  are  fires  on  Monte 
Falcone,  on  San  Martino,  on  the  mountain  of  The 
Thousands,  where  Garibaldi  passed. 

Far  out  on  the  sea  comes  the  big  Naples  steamer. 
And  on  the  steamer  is  Bosco,  the  socialist. 

He  cannot  sleep  that  night.  He  has  gone  up 
from  his  cabin,  and  paces  to  and  fro  on  the  deck. 
And  then  his  old  mother,  who  has  journeyed  to 
Naples  to  meet  him,  comes  from  her  cabin  to  keep 
him  company.  But  he  cannot  talk  with  her.  He 
is  thinking  that  he  will  soon  be  at  home.  Ah, 
Palermo,  Palermo ! 

He  has  been  in  prison  over  two  years.  They 
have  been  two  years  of  suffering  and  longing,  and 
has  it  been  of  any  good  ?  That  is  what  he  wishes  to 
know.  Has  it  been  of  benefit  that  he  has  been 
faithful  to  the  cause,  and  gone  to  prison?  Has 
Palermo  thought  of  him?  Have  his  sufferings  won 
the  cause  a  single  follower? 

His  old  mother  sits  crouched  on  the  gangway,  and 
shivers  in  the  chill  of  the  night.  He  has  asked 
her,  but  she  knows  nothing  of  such  things.  She 
speaks  of  little  Francesco  and  little  Lina,  how  they 
have  grown.  She  knows  nothing  of  what  he  is 
struggling  for. 

Now  he  comes  to  his  mother,  takes  her  by  the 
wrist,  leads  her  to  the  railing,  and  asks  her  if  she 
sees  anything  far  away  to  the  south.  She  looks  out 
over  the  water  with  her  dim  eyes,  and  sees  only  the 
night,  only  the  black  night  on  the  water.  She 


334          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

does  not  see  at  all  that  a  cloud  of  fire  is  floating  on 
the  horizon. 

Then  he  begins  to  walk  again,  and  she  creeps 
down  under  cover.  He  does  not  need  to  talk  to 
her;  it  is  joy  enough  to  have  him  home  again  after 
only  two  years'  absence.  He  was  condemned  to  be 
away  for  twenty-four.  She  had  not  expected  ever 
to  see  him  again.  But  now  the  king  has  showed 
grace.  For  the  king  is  a  good  man.  If  only  he 
were  allowed  to  be  as  good  as  he  wished ! 

Bosco  walks  across  the  deck,  and  asks  the  sailors 
if  they  do  not  see  the  golden  cloud  on  the  horizon. 

"That  is  Palermo,"  say  the  seamen.  "There  is 
always  a  bright  light  floating  over  it  at  night." 

It  cannot  be  anything  that  concerns  him.  He 
tries  to  persuade  himself  that  nothing  is  being  done 
for  him.  He  can  hardly  expect  every  one  all  at 
once  to  have  become  socialists. 

But  after  a  while  he  thinks  :  "Still  there  must  be 
something  unusual  going  on.  All  the  sailors  are 
gathering  forward  at  the  bow." 

"Palermo  is  burning,"  say  the  seamen. 

Yes,  that  is  what  it  must  be.  —  It  is  because  he 
has  suffered  so  terribly  that  he  expects  something 
should  be  done  for  him. 

Then  the  sailors  see  the  fires  on  the  mountains. 

It  cannot  be  a  conflagration.  It  must  be  some 
saint's  day.  They  ask  one  another  what  day  it  is. 

He,  too,  tries  to  believe  that  it  is  some  such 
thing.  He  asks  his  mother  if  it  is  a  feast-day. 
They  have  so  many  of  them. 

They  come  nearer  and  nearer.  The  thundering 
sound  of  the  festival  in  the  great  city  meets  them. 

"All  Palermo  is  singing  and  playing  to-night," 
says  one. 


IN  PALERMO  335 

"A  telegram  must  have  come  of  a  victory  in 
Africa,"  says  another. 

No  one  has  a  thought  that  it  can  be  for  his  sake. 
He  goes  and  places  himself  at  the  stern  in  order  not 
to  see  anything.  He  will  not  deceive  himself  with 
false  hopes.  Would  all  Palermo  be  illuminated  for 
a  poor  socialist? 

Then  his  mother  comes  and  fetches  him.  "Do 
not  stand  there!  Come  and  see  Palermo!  It  must 
be  a  king  who  is  coming  there  to-day.  Come  and 
look  at  Palermo!" 

He  considers  a  moment.  No,  he  does  not  think 
that  any  king  is  visiting  Sicily  just  now.  But  he 
cannot  dare  to  think,  when  no  one  else,  not  even  his 
mother  — 

All  at  once  every  one  on  the  steamer  gives  a  loud 
cry.  It  sounds  almost  like  a  cry  of  distress.  A  big 
cutter  has  steered  right  down  on  them  and  now 
glides  along  by  the  steamer's  side. 

The  cutter  is  all  flowers  and  fights;  over  the 
railing  hang  red  and  white  silken  draperies,  every- 
body on  board  is  dressed  in  red  and  white.  Bosco 
stands  on  the  steamer  and  looks  to  see  what  that 
beautiful  messenger  brings.  Then  the  sail  turns, 
and  on  its  white  surface  shines  to  meet  him :  "  Long 
live  Bosco !  " 

It  is  his  name.  Not  a  saint's,  not  a  king's,  not 
the  victorious  general's !  The  homage  is  for  nq 
other  on  the  steamer.  His  name,  his  name ! 

The  cutter  sends  up  some  rockets ;  a  whole  cloud 
of  stars  rain  down,  and  then  it  is  gone. 

He  enters  the  harbor,  and  there  is  jubilation 
and  enthusiasm  and  cheering  and  adoration.  People 
say:  "We  do  not  know  how  he  will  be  able  to  live 
through  it." 


336         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

But  as  soon  as  he  realizes  the  homage,  he  ieels 
that  he  does  not  at  all  deserve  it.  He  would  like 
to  fall  on  his  knees  before  those  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  people  who  pay  him  homage  and  pray  to 
them  for  forgiveness  that  he  is  so  powerless,  that  he 
has  done  nothing  for  them. 

As  though  by  a  special  fate,  Donna  Micaela  is 
in  Palermo  that  night.  She  is  there  to  start  one  of 
those  new  undertakings  which  she  thinks  she  ought 
to  organize  in  order  to  retain  life  and  reason.  She 
is  probably  there  either  on  account  of  the  draining 
or  of  the  marble  quarry. 

She  is  down  at  the  harbor  ;  like  all  the  others. 
People  notice  her  as  she  pushes  her  way  forward  to 
the  edge  of  the  water:  a  tall,  dark  woman,  with  an 
air  of  being  some  one,  a  pale  face  with  marked 
features  and  imploring,  longing,  passionate  eyes. 

During  the  reception  in  the  harbor,  Donna  Micaela 
is  fighting  out  a  strange  struggle.  "If  it  were 
Gaetano,"  she  thinks,  "could  I,  could  I  — 

"If  it  were  for  him  all  these  people  were  rejoic- 
ing, could  I  — " 

There  is  so  much  joy  —  a  joy  the  like  of  which  she 
has  never  seen.  The  people  love  one  another  and 
are  like  brothers.  And  that  not  only  because  a 
socialist  is  coming  home,  but  because  they  all 
believe  that  the  earth  will  soon  be  happy.  "  If  he 
were  to  come  now,  while  all  this  joy  is  roaring 
about  me,"  she  thinks.  "Could  I,  could  I  — " 

She  sees  Bosco's  carriage  trying  to  force  a  way 
through  the  crowd.  It  moves  forward  step  by  step. 
For  long  moments  it  stands  quite  still.  It  will 
take  several  hours  to  come  up  from  the  harbor. 


IN  PALERMO  337 

"If  it  were  he,  and  I  saw  every  one  crowding 
round  him,  could  I  forbear  from  throwing  myself 
into  his  arms?  Could  I?" 

•  •••••*•* 

As  soon  as  she  can  work  her  way  out  of  the  crowd 
she  takes  a  carriage,  drives  out  of  Palermo,  and 
passes  through  the  plain  of  Conca  d'Oro  to  the  big 
Cathedral  of  the  old  Norman  kings  in  Monreale. 

She  goes  in,  and  stands  face  to  face  with  the  most 
beautiful  image  of  Christ  that  human  art  has  created. 
High  up  in  the  choir  sits  the  blessing-giving  Christ 
in  glowing  mosaic.  He  is  mighty  and  mysterious 
and  majestic.  Without  number  are  they  who  make 
a  pilgrimage  to  Monreale  in  order  to  feel  the  con- 
solation of  gazing  upon  his  face.  Without  number 
are  they  who  in  far  distant  lands  long  for  him. 

The  ground  rocks  under  any  one  who  sees  him  for 
the  first  time.  His  eyes  compel  the  knees  of  the 
foreigner  to  bend.  Without  being  conscious  of  it 
the  lips  falter:  "Thou,  God,  art  God." 

About  the  walls  of  the  temple  glow  the  great 
events  of  the  world  in  wonderful  mosaic  pictures. 
They  only  lead  to  him.  They  are  only  there  to 
say :  "  All  the  past  is  his ;  all  the  present  belongs 
to  him,  and  all  the  future." 

The  mysteries  of  life  and  deatlj  dwell  within  that 
head. 

There  lives  the  spirit  w,hich  directs  the  fate  of  the 
world.  There  glows  the  love  vvhic^  shall  lead  the 
world  to  salvation. 

And  Donna  Micaela  calls  to  him:  'Thou  son  of 
God,  do  not  part  me  from  thee !  Le»  no  man  have 
power  to  part  me  from  thee!" 


338          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


III 

THE   HOME-COMING 

IT  is  a  strange  thing  to  come  home.  While  yet  on 
the  journey,  you  cannot  at  all  realize  how  strange  it 
will  be. 

When  you  come  down  to  Reggio  on  the  Strait  of 
Messina,  and  see  Sicily  emerge  from  the  sea  like  a 
bank  of  fog,  you  are  at  first  almost  impatient.  "  Is 
it  nothing  else?"  you  say.  "It  is  only  a  land  like 
all  others." 

And  when  you  disembark  at  Messina  you  are  still 
impatient.  Something  ought  to  have  happened 
while  you  have  been  away.  It  is  dreadful  to  be  met 
by  the  same  poverty,  the  same  rags,  the  same 
misery  as  when  you  went  away. 

You  see  that  the  spring  has  come.  The  fig-trees 
are  again  in  leaf;  the  grape-vines  send  out  tendrils 
which  grow  yards  long  in  a  few  hours,  and  a  mass 
of  peas  and  beans  are  spread  out  on  the  fruit-stands 
by  the  harbor. 

If  you  glance  towards  the  heights  above  the  town, 
you  see  that  the  gray  cactus  plants  that  climb  along 
the  edges  of  the  cliffs  are  covered  with  blood-red 
flowers.  They  have  blossomed  everywhere  like 
little,  glowing  flames.  It  looks  as  if  the  flower 
cups  had  been  filled  with  fire,  which  now  is  break- 
ing out. 

But,  however  much  the  cactus  blossoms,  it  is  still 
gray  and  dusty  and  cobwebby.  You  say  to  yourself 


THE  HOME-COMING  339 

that  the  cactus  is  like  Sicily.  However  many 
springs  it  may  blossom,  it  is  still  the  gray  land  of 
poverty. 

It  is  hard  to  realize  that  everything  has  remained 
quiet  and  the  same.  Scylla  and  Chary bdis  ought  to 
have  begun  to  roar  as  in  former  days.  The  stone 
giant  in  the  Girgenti  temple  should  have  risen  with 
reconstructed  limbs.  The  temple  of  Selinunto 
ought  to  have  raised  itself  from  its  ruins.  All 
Sicily  should  have  awakened. 

If  you  continue  your  journey  from  Messina  down 
the  coast,  you  are  still  impatient.  You  see  that  the 
peasants  are  still  ploughing  with  wooden  ploughs 
and  that  their  horses  are  just  as  thin  and  broken 
and  jaded. 

Yes,  everything  is  the  same.  The  sun  sheds  its 
light  over  the  earth  like  a  rain  of  color;  the  pelar- 
goniums bloom  at  the  roadside;  the  sea  is  a  soft  pale 
blue,  and  caresses  the  shore. 

Wild  mountains  with  bold  peaks  line  the  coast. 
Etna's  lofty  top  shines  in  the  distance. 

You  notice  all  at  once  that  something  strange  is 
taking  place.  All  your  impatience  is  gone.  Instead 
you  rejoice  in  the  blossoming  earth  and  in  the  moun- 
tains and  in  the  sea.  You  are  reclaimed  by  the 
beautiful  earth  as  a  bit  of  her  lost  property.  There 
is  no  time  to  think  of  anything  but  tufts  and  stones. 

At  last  you  approach  your  real  home,  the  home 
of  your  childhood.  What  wicked  thoughts  have 
filled  your  mind  while  you  have  been  away!  You 
never  wished  to  see  that  wretched  home  again, 
because  you  had  suffered  too  much  there.  And 
then  you  see  the  old  walled  town  from  afar,  and  it 
smiles  at  you  innocently,  unconscious  of  its  guilt. 


340          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"Come  and  love  me  once  more,"  it  says.  And  you 
can  only  be  happy  and  grateful  because  it  is  willing 
to  accept  your  love. 

Ah,  when  you  go  up  the  zigzag  path  that  leads  to 
the  gate  of  the  town!  The  light  shade  of  the  olive- 
tree  falls  over  you.  Was  it  meant  as  a  caress  ?  A 
little  lizard  scampers  along  a  wall.  You  have  to 
stop  and  look.  May  not  the  lizard  be  a  friend  of 
your  childhood  who  wishes  to  say  good-day? 

Suddenly  a  fear  strikes  you.  Your  heart  begins 
to  throb  and  beat.  You  remember  that  you  do  not 
know  what  you  may  be  going  to  hear  when  you 
come  home.  No  one  has  written  letters ;  you  have 
received  none.  Everything  that  recalled  home  you 
have  put  away.  It  seemed  the  most  sensible  way, 
since  you  were  never  to  come  home  again.  Up  to 
that  moment  your  feelings  for  your  home  have  been 
dead  and  indifferent. 

But  in  that  moment  you  do  not  know  how  you  can 
bear  it  if  everything  is  not  exactly  the  same  on  the 
mountain  of  your  birth.  It  will  be  a  mortal  blow 
if  there  is  a  single  palm  missing  on  Monte  Chiaro 
or  if  a  single  stone  has  loosened  from  the  town  wall. 

Where  is  the  big  agave  at  the  turn  of  the  cliff? 
The  agave  is  not  there ;  it  has  blossomed  and  been 
cut  down.  And  the  stone  bench  at  the  street-corner 
is  broken.  You  will  miss  that  bench;  it  has  been 
such  a  pleasant  resting-place.  And  look,  they  have 
built  a  barn  on  the  green  meadow  under  the  almond- 
trees.  You  will  never  again  be  able  to  stretch  out 
there  in  the  flowering  clover. 

You  are  afraid  of  every  step.  What  will  you 
meet  next? 

You  are  so   moved  that  you  feel  that  you  could 


THE  HOME-COMING  341 

weep  if  a  single  old  beggar-woman  has  died  in  your 
absence. 

No,  you  did  not  know  that  to  come  home  was  so 
strange. 

You  came  out  of  prison  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  the 
torpor  of  the  prison  still  has  possession  of  you. 
You  hardly  know  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  go 
home.  Your  beloved  is  dead;  it  is  too  terrible  to 
tear  your  longing  from  its  grave.  So  you  drift 
aimlessly  about,  and  let  one  day  pass  like  the  next. 
At  last  you  pluck  up  courage.  You  must  go  home 
to  your  poor  mother. 

And  when  you  are  there,  you  feel  that  you  have 
been  longing  for  every  stone,  every  blade  of  grass. 

Ever  since  he  came  into  the  shop  Donna  Elisa  has 
thought :  "  Now  I  will  tell  him  of  Micaela.  Perhaps 
he  does  not  even  know  that  she  is  alive."  But  she 
puts  it  off  from  minute  to  minute,  not  only  because 
she  wishes  to  have  him  for  a  while  to  herself  alone, 
but  also  because  as  soon  as  she  mentions  Micaela's 
name  he  will  fall  into  the  anguish  and  misery  of 
love.  For  Micaela  will  not  marry  him  ;  she  has  said 
so  to  Donna  Elisa  a  thousand  times.  She  would 
like  to  free  him  from  prison,  but  she  will  not  be 
the  wife  of  an  atheist. 

Only  for  one  half-hour  will  Donna  Elisa  keep 
Gaetano  for  herself;  only  for  one  half-hour. 

But  even  so  long  she  may  not  sit  with  his  hand  in 
hers,  asking  him  a  thousand  questions,  for  the  people 
have  learned  that  he  has  come.  All  at  once  the 
whole  street  is  full  of  those  who  wish  to  see  him. 
Donna  Elisa  has  bolted  the  door,  for  she  knew  that 
she  would  not  have  him  in  peace  a  moment  after 


342  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

they  had  discovered  him,  but  it  was  of  little  avail. 
They  knock  on  the  windows,  and  pound  on  the 
door. 

"  Don  Gaetano, "  they  cry ;  "  Don  Gaetano ! " 

Gaetano  comes  laughing  out  to  the  steps.  They 
wave  their  caps  and  cheer.  He  hurries  down  into 
the  crowd,  and  embraces  one  after  another. 

But  that  is  not  what  they  wish.  He  must  go  up 
on  the  steps  and  make  a  speech.  He  must  tell 
them  how  cruel  the  government  has  been  to  him, 
and  how  he  has  suffered  in  prison. 

Gaetano  laughs  still,  and  stations  himself  on  the 
steps.  "Prison,"  he  says;  "what  is  it  to  talk 
about  ?  I  have  had  my  soup  every  day,  and  that  is 
more  than  many  of  you  can  say." 

Little  Gandolfo  swings  his  cap  and  calls  to  him: 
"  There  are  many  more  socialists  in  Diamante  now 
than  when  you  went  away,  Don  Gaetano." 

"  How  else  could  it  be  ?  "  he  laughs.  "  Every- 
body must  become  a  socialist.  Is  socialism  any- 
thing dreadful  or  terrible  ?  Socialism  is  an  idyl. 
It  is  an  idyl  of  one's  own  home  and  happy  work,  of 
which  every  one  dreams  from  his  childhood.  A 
whole  world  filled  with  —  " 

He  stops,  for  he  has  cast  a  glance  towards  the 
summer-palace.  There  stands  Donna  Micaela  on 
one  of  the  balconies,  and  looks  down  at  him. 

He  does  not  think  for  a  moment  that  it  is  an 
illusion  or  a  hallucination.  He  sees  instantly  that 
she  is  flesh  and  blood.  But  just  for  that  reason 
—  and  also  because  the  prison  life  has  taken  all 
his  strength  from  him,  so  that  he  cannot  be  consid- 
ered a  well  person  — 


THE  HOME-COMING  343 

He  feels  a  terrible  difficulty  in  holding  himself 
upright.  He  clutches  in  the  air  with  his  hands, 
tries  to  get  support  from  the  door-post,  but  nothing 
helps.  His  legs  give  way  under  him;  he  slides 
down  the  steps  and  strikes  his  head  on  the  stones. 

He  lies  there  like  one  dead. 

Every  one  rushes  to  him,  carries  him  in,  runs 
after  surgeon  and  doctor,  prescribes,  talks,  and  pro- 
poses a  thousand  ways  to  help  him. 

Donna  Elisa  and  Pacifica  get  him  finally  into  one 
of  the  bedrooms.  Luca  drives  the  people  out  and 
places  himself  on  guard  before  the  closed  door. 
Donna  Micaela,  who  came  in  with  the  others,  was 
taken  first  of  them  all  by  the  hand  and  led  out.  She 
was  not  allowed  to  stay  in  at  all.  Luca  had  himself 
seen  Gaetano  fall  as  if  from  a  blow  on  the  temple 
when  he  caught  sight  of  her. 

Then  the  doctor  comes,  and  he  makes  one  attempt 
after  another  to  rouse  Gaetano.  He  is  not  success- 
ful ;  Gaetano  lies  as  if  turned  to  stone.  The  doctor 
thinks  that  he  received  a  dangerous  blow  on  the 
head  when  he  fell.  He  does  not  know  whether  he 
will  succeed  in  bringing  him  to  life. 

The  swoon  in  itself  was  nothing,  but  that  blow 
on  the  hard  edge  of  the  stone  steps  — 

In  the  house  there  is  an  eager  bustle.  The  poor 
people  outside  can  only  listen  and  wait. 

There  they  stand  the  livelong  day  outside  Donna 
Elisa's  door.  There  stand  Donna  Concetta- and 
Donna  Emilia.  No  love  has  been  lost  between 
them  in  former  times,  but  to-day  they  stand  beside 
one  another  and  mourn. 

Many  anxious  eyes  peer  in  through  the  windows 
of  Donna  Elisa's  house.  Little  Gandolfo  and  old 


344          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

Assunta  from  the  Cathedral  steps,  and  the  poor  old 
chair-maker,  stand  there  the  whole  afternoon  with- 
out tiring.  It  is  so  terrible  that  Gaetano  is  going 
to  die  just  when  they  have  got  him  back  again. 

The  blind  stand  and  wait  as  if  they  expected  him 
to  give  them  their  sight,  and  the  poor  people,  both 
from  Geraci  and  Corvaja,  are  waiting  to  hear  how  it 
will  turn  out  for  their  young  lord,  the  last  Alagona. 

He  wished  them  well,  and  he  had  great  strength 
and  power.  If  he  could  only  have  lived  — 

"God  has  taken  his  hand  from  Sicily,"  they  say. 
"  He  lets  all  those  perish  who  wish  to  help  the 
people." 

All  the  afternoon  and  evening,  and  even  till  mid- 
night, the  crowd  of  people  are  still  outside  Donna 
Elisa's  house.  At  precisely  twelve  o'clock  Donna 
Elisa  throws  open  the  shop-door  and  comes  out  on 
the  steps.  "  Is  he  better?  "  they  all  cry  at  the  sight 
of  her.  — "  No,  he  is  not  better." 

Then  there  is  silence  ;  but  at  last  a  single 
trembling  voice  asks :  "  Is  he  worse  ?  "  —  "  No,  no; 
he  is  not  worse.  He  is  the  same.  The  doctor  is 
with  him." 

Donna  Elisa  has  thrown  a  black  shawl  over  her 
head  and  carries  a  lantern  in  her  hand.  She  goes 
down  the  steps  to  the  street,  where  the  people  are 
sitting  and  lying,  closely  packed  one  beside  one 
another.  She  makes  her  way  quietly  through  them. 

"Is  Gandolfo  here?"  she  asks.  "Yes,  Donna 
Elisa."  And  Gandolfo  comes  forward  to  her. 

"  You  must  come  with  me  and  open  your  church 
for  me." 

Every  one  who  hears  Donna  Elisa  say  that,  under- 
stands that  she  wishes  to  go  to  the  Christchild  in 


THE  HOME-COMING  345 

the  church  of  San  Pasquale  and  pray  for  Gaetano. 
They  rise  and  wish  to  go  with  her. 

Donna  Elisa  is  much  touched  by  their  sympathy. 
She  opens  her  heart  to  them. 

"I  will  tell  you  something,"  she  says,  and  her 
voice  trembles  exceedingly.  "  I  have  had  a  dream. 
I  do  not  know  how  I  could  sleep  to-night.  But 
while  I  was  sitting  at  the  bedside,  and  was  most 
anxious,  I  did  fall  asleep.  I  had  scarcely  closed 
my  eyes  before  I  saw  the  Christchild  before  me 
in  his  crown  and  gold  shoes,  as  he  stands  out  in 
San  Pasquale.  And  he  spoke  in  this  way  to  me : 
'  Make  the  unhappy  woman  who  is  on  her  knees 
praying  in  my  church  your  son's  wife,  then  Gaetano 
will  be  well.'  He  hardly  had  time  to  say  it  before 
I  awoke,  and  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  seemed  to 
see  the  Christchild  disappearing  through  the  wall. 
And  now  I  must  go  out  and  see  if  any  one  is  there. 

"  But  now  you  all  hear  that  I  vow  that  if  there  is 
any  woman  out  in  the  church  of  San  Pasquale,  I 
shall  do  what  the  image  commanded  me.  Even  if 
it  is  the  poorest  girl  from  the  street,  I  shall  take 
charge  of  her  and  make  her  my  son's  wife." 

When  Donna  Elisa  has  spoken,  she  and  all  those 
who  have  waited  in  the  street  go  out  to  San  Pas- 
quale. The  poor  people  are  filled  with  shuddering 
expectation.  They  can  scarcely  contain  themselves 
from  rushing  by  Donna  Elisa,  in  order  to  see  if 
there  is  any  one  in  the  church. 

Fancy  if  it  is  a  gypsy  girl  who  has  sought  shelter 
there  for  the  night !  Who  can  be  in  the  church  at 
night  except  some  poor,  homeless  wanderer?  Donna 
Elisa  has  made  a  terrible  vow. 

At  last  they  come  to  Porta  Etnea,  and  from  there 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

they  go  quickly,  quickly  down  the  hill.  The  saints 
preserve  us,  the  church  door  is  open !  Some  one 
really  is  there. 

The  lantern  shakes  in  Donna  Elisa's  hand.     Gan 
dolfo  wishes  to  take  it  from  her,  but  she  will  keep 
it.     "In  God's  name,  in  God's  name,"  she  murmurs 
as  she  goes  into  the  church. 

The  people  crowd  in  after  her.  They  almost 
crush  one  another  to  death  in  the  door,  but  their 
excitement  keeps  them  silent,  no  one  says  a  word. 
All  gaze  at  the  high  altar.  Is  any  one  there?  Is 
any  one  there?  The  little  hanging-lamp  over  the 
image  shines  pitifully  faint.  Is  any  one  there? 

Yes,  some  one  is  there.  There  is  a  woman  there. 
She  is  on  her  knees,  praying,  and  her  head  is  so 
deeply  bent  that  they  cannot  see  who  she  is.  But 
when  she  hears  steps  behind  her  she  lifts  her  long, 
bowed  neck  and  looks  up.  It  is  Donna  Micaela. 

At  first  she  is  frightened  and  starts  up  as  if  she 
wished  to  escape.  Donna  Elisa  is  also  frightened, 
and  they  look  at  one  another  as  if  they  had  never 
met  before.  Then  Donna  Micaela  says  in  a  very 
low  voice :  "  You  have  come  to  pray  for  him,  sister- 
in-law. "  And  the  people  see  her  move  a  little  way 
along  so  that  Donna  Elisa  may  have  room  directly 
in  front  of  the  image. 

Donna  Elisa's  hand  trembles  so  that  she  has  to  set 
the  lantern  down  on  the  floor,  and  her  voice  is  quite 
hoarse  as  she  says :  "  Has  none  other  but  you  been 
here  to-night,  Micaela?  "  —  " No,  none  other." 

Donna  Elisa  has  to  support  herself  against  the 
wall  to  keep  from  falling,  and  Donna  Micaela  sees 
it.  She  is  instantly  beside  her  and  puts  her  arm 
about  her  waist.  "Sit  down,  sit  down!"  She  leads 


THE  HOME-COMING  347 

her  to  the  altar  platform  and  kneels  down  in  front 
of  her.  "  Is  he  so  ill?  We  will  pray  for  him." 

"  Micaela,"  says  Donna  Elisa,  "  I  thought  that  I 
should  find  help  here."  —  "  Yes,  you  shall  see,  you 
will."  —  "I  dreamed  that  the  image  came  to  me, 
that  he  came  to  me  and  said  that  I  was  to  come 
here."  —  "He  has  also  helped  us  many  times 
before."  —  "But  he  said  this  to  me:  'Make  the 
unhappy  woman  who  is  on  her  knees  praying  before 
my  altar  your  son's  wife,  then  your  son  will  be 
well. '  "  —  "  What  do  you' say  that  he  said ? "  —  "  I 
was  to  make  her  who  was  kneeling  and  praying 
out  here  my  son's  wife." — "And  you  were  will- 
ing to  do  it  ?  You  did  not  know  whom  you  would 
meet ! " 

"  On  the  way  I  made  a  vow  —  and  those  who 
followed  me  heard  it  —  that  whoever  it  might  be,  I 
would  take  her  in  my  arms  and  lead  her  to  my  home. 
I  thought  that  it  was  some  poor  woman  whom  God 
wished  to  help. "  —  " It  is  one  indeed. "  —  "I  was  in 
despair  when  I  saw  that  there  was  no  one  here  but 
you." 

Donna  Micaela  does  not  answer ;  she  gazes  up  at 
the  image.  "Is  it  your  will?  Is  it  your  will?" 
she  whispers  anxiously. 

Donna  Elisa  continues  to  bemoan  herself.  "I 
saw  him  so  plainly,  and  he  has  never  deceived 
before.  I  thought  that  some  poor  girl  who  had  no 
marriage  portion  had  prayed  to  him  for  a  husband. 
Such  things  have  happened  before.  What  shall  I 

do  now  ? " 

She  laments  and  bewails;  she  cannot  get  away 
from  the  thought  that  it  ought  to  be  a  poor  woman. 
Donna  Micaela  grows  impatient.  She  takes  her  by 


348          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

the  arm  and  shakes  her.  "  But  Donna  Elisa,  Donna 
Elisa!" 

Donna  Elisa  does  not  listen  to  her;  she  continues 
her  laments.  "What  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?  " 

"Why,  make  the  poor  woman  who  was  kneeling 
and  praying  here  your  son's  wife,  Donna  Elisa! " 

Donna  Elisa  looks  up.  Such  a  face  as  she  sees 
before  her!  So  bewitching,  so  captivating,  so 
smiling! 

But  she  may  not  look  at  it  for  more  than  a  second. 
Donna  Micaela  hides  it  instantly  in  Donna  Elisa's 
old  black  dress. 

Donna  Micaela  and  Donna  Elisa  go  together  into 
the  town.  The  street  winds  so  that  they  cannot 
see  Donna  Elisa's  house  until  they  are  quite  near. 
When  it  at  last  comes  into  view  they  see  that  the 
shop  windows  are  lighted  up.  Four  gigantic  wax- 
candles  are  burning  behind  the  bunches  of  rosaries. 

Both  the  women  press  each  other's  hands.  "  He 
lives !  "  one  whispers  to  the  other.  "  He  lives !  " 

"  You  must  not  tell  him  anything  about  what  the 
image  commanded  you  to  do,"  says  Donna  Micaela 
to  Donna  Elisa. 

Outside  the  shop  they  embrace  one  another  and 
each  goes  her  own  way. 

In  a  little  while  Gaetano  comes  out  on  the  steps 
of  the  shop.  He  stands  still  for  a  moment  and 
breathes  in  the  fresh  night  air.  Then  he  sees  how 
lights  are  burning  in  the  dark  palace  across  the 
street. 

Gaetano  breathes  short  and  panting;  he  seems 
almost  afraid  to  go  further.  Suddenly  he  dashes 
Across  like  some  one  going  to  meet  an  unavoidable 


THE  HOME-COMING  349 

misfortune.  He  finds  the  door  to  the  summer- 
palace  unlocked,  takes  the  stairs  in  two  bounds,  and 
bursts  open  the  door  to  the  music-room  without 
knocking. 

Donna  Micaela  is  sitting  there,  wondering  if  he 
will  come  now  in  the  night  or  the  next  morning. 
Then  she  hears  his  step  outside  in  the  gallery. 
She  is  seized  with  terror;  how  will  he  be?  She 
has  longed  so  unspeakably  for  him.  Will  he  really 
be  so  that  all  that  longing  will  be  satisfied? 

And  will  no  more  walls  rise  between  them? 
Will  they  for  once  be  able  to  tell  each  other 
everything?  Will  they  speak  of  love,  and  not  of 
socialism?" 

W7hen  he  opens  the  door  she  tries  to  go  to  meet 
him,  but  she  cannot;  she  is  trembling  in  every 
limb.  She  sits  down  and  hides  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

She  expects  him  to  throw  his  arms  about  her  and 
kiss  her,  but  that  he  does  not  do.  It  is  not  Gaetano's 
way  to  do  what  people  expect  of  him. 

As  soon  as  he  could  stand  upright  he  has  thrown 
on  his  clothes  to  come  to  see  her.  He  is  apparently 
wildly  gay  when  he  comes  now.  He  would  have 
liked  her  to  take  it  lightly  also.  He  will  not  be 
agitated.  He  had  fainted  in  the  forenoon.  He 
could  stand  nothing. 

He  stands  quietly  beside  her  until  she  regains 
her  composure.  "You  have  weak  nerves,"  he  says. 
That  is  actually  all  he  says. 

She  and  Donna  Elisa  and  every  one  is  convinced 
that  he  has  come  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  and  say 
that  he  loves  her.  But  just  for  that  reason  it  is 
impossible  for  Gaetano.  Some  people  are  malicious; 


350  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

it  is  their  nature  never  to  do  just  what  they  ought 
to  do. 

Gaetano  begins  to  tell  her  of  his  journey ;  he 
does  not  speak  even  of  socialism,  but  talks  of 
express-trains  and  conductors  and  curious  travelling 
companions. 

Donna  Micaela  sits  and  looks  at  him ;  her  eyes 
beg  and  implore  more  and  more  eagerly.  Gaetano 
seems  to  be  glad  and  happy  to  see  her,  but  why 
can  he  not  say  what  he  has  to  say? 

"Have  you  been  on  the  Etna  railway?"  she  asks. 

"Yes/'  he  answers,  and  begins  quite  uncon- 
strainedly  to  speak  of  the  beauty  and  usefulness  of 
the  road.  He  knows  nothing  of  how  it  came  to  be. 

Gaetano  is  saying  to  himself  that  he  is  a  brute. 
Why  does  he  not  speak  the  words  for  which  she  is 
longing?  But  why  is  she  sitting  there  so  humbly? 
Why  does  she  show  that  he  needs  only  to  stretch 
out  his  hand  and  take  her?  He  is  desperately, 
stormily  happy  to  be  near  her,  but  he  feels  so  sure 
of  her,  so  certain.  It  is  so  amusing  to  torture  her. 

The  people  of  Diamante  are  still  standing  outside 
in  the  street,  and  they  all  feel  as  great  a  hap- 
piness as  if  they  had  given  away  a  daughter  in 
marriage. 

They  have  been  patient  till  now  in  order  to  give 
Gaetano  time  to  declare  himself.  But  now  it  surely 
must  be  accomplished.  And  they  begin  to  shout:  — 

"  Long  live  Gaetano  !  long  live  Micaela!  " 

Donna  Micaela  looks  up  with  inexpressible  dis- 
may. He  surely  must  understand  that  she  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it. 

She  goes  out  to  the  gallery  and  sends  Luca  down 
with  the  request  that  they  will  be  silent. 


THE  HOME-COMING  351 

When  she  comes  back,  Gaetano  has  risen.  He 
offers  her  his  hand ;  he  wishes  to  go. 

Donna  Micaela  puts  out  her  hand  almost  without 
knowing  what  she  is  doing.  But  then  she  draws  it 
back ;  "  No,  no,"  she  says. 

He  wishes  to  go,  and  who  knows  whether  he  will 
come  again  on  the  morrow.  She  has  not  been  able 
to  talk  to  him ;  she  has  not  been  able  to  say  a  word 
to  him  of  all  that  she  wished  to  say. 

Surely  there  was  no  need  for  them  to  be  like  ordi- 
nary lovers.  That  man  had  given  her  life  all  its 
life  for  many  years.  Whether  he  spoke  to  her  of 
love  or  not  was  of  no  importance ;  yet  she  wishes  to 
tell  him  what  he  has  been  to  her. 

And  now,  just  now.  One  has  to  make  the  most 
of  one's  opportunities  when  Gaetano  is  in  question. 
She  dares  not  let  him  go. 

"  You  must  not  go  yet,"  she  says.  "  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

She  draws  forward  a  chair  for  him;  she  herself 
places  herself  a  little  behind  him.  His  eyes  are  too 
gay  to-night,  they  trouble  her. 

Then  she  begins  to  speak.  She  lays  before  him 
the  great,  hidden  treasures  of  her  life.  They  were 
all  the  words  he  had  said  to  her  and  all  the  dreams 
he  had  set  her  to  dreaming.  She  had  not  lost  one. 
She  had  collected  and  saved  them  up.  They  had 
been  the  only  richness  in  her  poor  life. 

In  the  beginning  she  speaks  fast,  as  if  repeating 
a  lesson.  She  is  afraid  of  him ;  she  does  not  know 
whether  he  likes  her  to  speak.  At  last  she  dares  to 
look  at  him.  He  is  serious  now,  no  longer  mali- 
cious. He  sits  still  and  listens  as  if  he  would  not 
lose  a  syllable.  Just  now  his  face  was  sickly  and 


352          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

ashen,    but   now    it   suddenly   changes.      His    face 
b'egins  to  shine  as  though  transfigured. 

She  talks  and  talks.  She  looks  at  him,  and  now 
she  is  beautiful.  How  could  she  help  being  beau- 
tiful? At  last  she  can  speak  out  to  him,  she  can 
tell  him  how  love  came  to  her  and  how  it  has  never 
left  her  since.  Finally  she  can  tell  him  how  he  has 
been  all  the  world  to  her. 

Words  cannot  say  enough ;  she  takes  his  hand  and 
kisses  it. 

He  lets  her  do  it  without  moving.  The  color  in  his 
cheeks  grows  no  deeper,  but  it  becomes  clearer,  more 
transparent.  She  remembers  Gandolfo,  who  had  said 
that  Gaetano's  face  was  so  white  that  it  shone. 

He  does  not  interrupt  her.  She  tells  him  about 
the  railway,  speaks  of  one  miracle  after  another. 
He  looks  at  her  now  and  then.  His  eyes  glow  at 
the  sight  of  her.  He  is  not  by  any  means  making 
fun  of  her. 

She  wonders  exceedingly  what  is  passing  in  him. 
He  looks  as  if  what  she  said  was  nothing  new  to 
him.  He  seems  to  recognize  everything  she  says. 
Could  it  be  that  his  love  for  her  was  the  same  as 
that  she  felt  for  him?  Was  it  connected  with  every 
noble  feeling  in  him?  Had  it  been  the  elevating 
power  in  his  life  ?  Had  it  given  wings  to  his  artistic 
powers?  Had  it  taught  him  to  love  the  poor  and 
the  oppressed  ?  Is  it  once  more  taking  possession 
of  him,  making  him  feel  that  he  is  an  artist,  an 
apostle,  that  nothing  is  too  high  for  him? 

But  as  he  is  still  silent  she  thinks  that  perhaps 
he  will  not  be  tied  to  her.  He  loves  her,  but  pos- 
sibly he  wishes  to  be  a  free  man.  Perhaps  he 
thinks  that  she  is  not  a  suitable  wife  for  a  socialist. 


THE  HOME-COMING  353 

Her  blood  begins  to  boil.  She  thinks  that  he 
perhaps  believes  that  she  is  sitting  there  and  beg- 
ging for  his  love. 

She  has  told  him  almost  everything  that  has 
happened  while  he  has  been  away.  Now  she  sud- 
denly breaks  off  in  her  story. 

"I  have  loved  you,"  she  says.  "I  shall  always 
love  you,  and  I  think  that  I  should  like  you  to  tell 
me  once  that  you  love  me.  It  would  make  the 
parting  easier  to  bear." 

"Would  it?"  he  says. 

"  Can  I  be  your  wife  ? "  she  says,  and  her  voice 
trembles  with  indignation.  "  I  no  longer  fear  your 
teachings  as  I  did;  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  poor;  I 
wish  to  turn  the  world  upside  down,  I,  as  well  as 
you.  But  I  am  a  believer.  How  can  I  live  with 
you  if  you  do  not  agree  with  me  in  that?  Or  per- 
haps you  would  win  me  to  unbelief?  Then  the 
world  would  be  dead  for  me.  Everything  would 
lose  its  meaning,  its  significance.  I  should  be  a 
miserable,  destitute  creature.  We  must  part." 

"  Really ! "  he  turns  towards  her.  His  eyes  begin 
to  glov  with  impatience. 

"You  may  go  now,"  she  says  quietly;  "I  have 
said  to  you  everything  I  wished  to  say.  I  should 
ha\  e  wished  that  you  had  something  to  say  to  me. 
But  perhaps  it  is  better  as  it  is.  We  will  not  make 
it  harder  to  part  than  it  need  be." 

One  of  Gaetano's  hands  holds  her  hands  firmly 
and  closely,  the  other  holds  her  head  still.  Then 
he  kisses  her. 

Was  she  mad,  that  she  could  think  that  he  would 
let  anything,  anything  in  the  world,  part  them  now? 


354         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 


IV 

ONLY  OF  THIS  WORLD 

As  she  grew  up  everybody  said  of  her:  "She  is 
going  to  be  a  saint,  a  saint." 

Her  name  was  Margherita  Cornado.  She  lived 
in  Girgenti  on  the  south  side  of  Sicily,  in  the  great 
mining  district.  When  she  was  a  child  her  father 
was  a  miner ;  later  he  inherited  a  little  money,  so 
that  he  no  longer  needed  to  work. 

There  was  a  little,  narrow,  miserable  roof-garden 
on  Margherita  Cornado's  house  in  Girgenti.  A 
small  and  steep  stairway  led  up  to  it,  and  one  had 
to  creep  out  through  a  low  door.  But  it  was  well 
worth  the  trouble.  When  you  reached  the  top  you 
saw  not  only  a  mass  of  roofs,  but  the  whole  air  over 
the  town  was  gaily  crowded  with  the  towers  and 
facades  of  all  Girgenti's  churches.  And  every 
facade  and  every  tower  was  a  quivering  lace-work  of 
images,  of  loggias,  of  glowing  canopies. 

And  outside  the  town  there  was  a  wide  plain 
which  sloped  gently  down  towards  the  sea,  and  a 
semicircle  of  hills  that  guarded  the  plain.  The 
plain  was  glittering  red ;  the  ocean  was  blue  as 
enamel;  the  hillsides  were  yellow;  it  was  a  whole 
orient  of  warmth  and  color. 

But  there  was  even  more  to  be  seen.  Ancient 
temples  were  dotted  about  the  valley.  Ruins  and 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  355 

strange  old  towers  were  everywhere,  as  in  a  fairy 
world. 

As  Margherita  Cornado  grew  up,  she  used  to 
spend  most  of  her  days  there  ;  but  she  never  looked 
out  over  the  dazzling  landscape.  She  was  occupied 
with  other  things. 

Her  father  used  to  tell  her  of  the  life  in  the 
sulphur  mines  at  Grotte,  where  he  had  worked. 
While  Margherita  Cornado  sat  on  the  airy  terrace, 
she  thought  that  she  was  incessantly  walking  about 
the  dark  mine  veins,  and  finding  her  way  through 
dim  shafts. 

She  could  not  help  thinking  of  all  the  misery  that 
existed  in  the  mines;  especially  she  thought  of  the 
children,  who  carried  the  ore  up  to  the  surface. 
"  The  little  wagons,"  they  called  them.  That  ex- 
pression never  left  her  mind.  Poor,  poor  little 
wagons,  the  little  mine-wagons! 

They  came  in  the  morning,  and  each  followed  a 
miner  down  into  the  mine.  As  soon  as  he  had  dug 
out  enough  ore,  he  loaded  the  mine-wagon  with  a 
basket  of  it,  and  then  the  latter  began  to  climb. 
Several  of  them  met  on  the  way,  so  that  there  was 
a  long  procession.  And  they  began  to  sing:  — 

"  One  journey  made  in  struggling  and  pain, 
Nineteen  times  to  be  travelled  again." 

When  they  finally  reached  the  light  of  day,  they 
emptied  their  baskets  of  ore  and  threw  themselves 
on  the  ground  to  rest  a  moment.  Most  of  them 
dragged  themselves  over  to  the  sulphurous  pools 
near  the  shaft  of  the  mine  and  drank  the  pestiferous 
water. 

But   they  soon  had  to  go  down  again,  and  they 


356          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

gathered  at  the  mouth  of  the  mine.  As  they  clam 
bered  down,  they  cried :  "  Lord  and  God,  have  mercy, 
have  mercy,  have  mercy ! " 

Every  journey  the  little  wagons  made,  their  song 
grew  more  feeble.  They  groaned  and  cried  as  they 
crawled  up  the  paths  of  the  mine. 

The  little  wagons  were  bathed  in  perspiration; 
the  baskets  of  ore  ground  holes  in  their  shoulders. 
As  they  went  up  and  down  they  sang:  — 

"  Seven  more  trips  without  pause  for  breath, 
The  pain  of  living  is  worse  than  death." 

Margherita  Cornado  had  suffered  for  those  poor 
children  all  her  own  childhood.  And  because  she 
was  always  thinking  of  their  hardships,  people 
believed  that  she  would  be  a  saint 

Neither  did  she  forget  them  as  she  grew  older. 
As  soon  as  she  was  grown,  she  went  to  Grotte, 
where  most  of  the  mines  are,  and  when  the  little 
wagons  came  out  into  the  daylight,  she  was  waiting 
for  them  by  the  shaft  with  fresh,  clean  water.  She 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  their  faces,  and  she 
dressed  the  wounds  on  their  shoulders.  It  was  not 
much  that  she  could  do  for  them,  but  soon  the  little 
wagons  felt  that  they  could  not  go  on  with  their 
work  any  day  that  Margherita  Cornado  did  not  come 
and  comfort  them. 

But  unfortunately  for  the  little  wagons,  Margherita 
was  very  beautiful.  One  day  one  of  the  mining- 
engineers  happened  to  see  her  as  she  was  relieving 
the  children,  and  instantly  fell  very  much  in  love 
with  her. 

A  few  weeks  after,  Margherita  Cornado  stopped 
to  the  Grotte  mines.  She  sat  at  home 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  357 

instead  and  sewed  on  her  wedding  outfit.  She  was 
going  to  marry  the  mining-engineer.  It  was  a 
good  match,  and  connected  her  with  the  chief  people 
of  the  town,  so  she  could  not  care  for  the  little 
wagons  any  longer. 

A  few  days  before  the  wedding  the  old  beggar, 
Santuzza,  who  was  Margherita's  godmother,  came 
and  asked  to  speak  to  her.  They  betook  themselves 
to  the  roof-garden  in  order  to  be  alone. 

"  Margherita,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  you  are  in 
the  midst  of  such  happiness  and  magnificence  that 
perhaps  there  is  no  use  speaking  to  you  of  those 
who  are  in  need  and  sorrow.  You  have  forgotten 
all  such  things." 

Margherita  reproved  her  for  speaking  so. 

"  I  come  with  a  greeting  to  you  from  my  son, 
Orestes.  He  is  in  trouble,  and  he  needs  your 
advice." 

"  You  know  that  you  can  speak  freely  to  me, 
Santuzza,"  said  the  girl. 

"Orestes  is  no  longer  at  the  Grotte  mines;  you 
know  that,  I  suppose.  He  is  at  Racalmuto.  And 
he  is  very  badly  off  there.  Not  that  the  pay  is  so 
bad,  but  the  engineer  is  a  man  who  grinds  down  the 
poor  to  the  last  drop  of  blood." 

The  old  woman  told  how  the  engineer  tortured 
the  miners.  He  made  them  work  over  time ;  he 
fined  them  if  they  missed  a  day.  He  did  not  look 
after  the  mines  properly;  there  was  one  cave- 
in  after  another.  No  one  was  secure  of  his  life  as 
long  as  he  was  under  earth. 

"  Well,  Margherita,  Orestes  had  a  son.  A  splendid 
boy;  just  ten  years  old.  The  engineer  came  and 
wished  to  buy  the  boy  from  Orestes,  and  set  him  to 


THE  MIRACLES  OF   ANTICHRIST 

work  with  the  little  wagons.  But  Orestes  said  no. 
His  boy  should  not  be  ruined  by  such  work. 

Then  the  engineer  threatened  him,  and  said  that 
Orestes  would  be  dismissed  from  the  mine. 

Santuzza  paused. 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  Margherita. 

"  Yes,  then  Orestes  gave  his  son  to  the  engineer. 
The  next  day  the  boy  got  a  whipping  from  him. 
He  beat  him  every  day.  The  boy  grew  more  and 
more  feeble.  Orestes  saw  it,  and  asked  the  engi- 
neer to  spare  the  boy,  but  he  had  no  mercy.  He 
said  that  the  boy  was  lazy,  and  he  continued  to  per- 
secute him.  And  now  he  is  dead.  My  grandson 
is  dead,  Margherita." 

The  girl  had  quite  forgotten  all  her  own  happi- 
ness. She  was  once  more  only  the  miner's  daughter, 
the  protector  of  the  little  wagons,  the  poor  child 
who  used  to  sit  on  the  bright  terrace  and  weep  over 
the  hardships  of  the  black  mines. 

"Why  do  you  let  the  man  live? "  she  cried. 

The  old  woman  looked  at  her  furtively.  Then 
she  crept  close  to  her  with  a  knife.  "  Orestes  sends 
you  this  with  a  thousand  questions,"  she  said. 

Margherita  Cornado  took  the  knife,  kissed  the 
blade,  and  gave  it  back  without  a  word. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  wedding.  The 
parents  of  the  bridegroom  were  awaiting  their  son. 
He  was  to  come  home  from  the  mines  towards  night; 
but  he  never  came.  Later  in  the  night  a  servant 
was  sent  to  the  Grotte  mines  to  look  for  him,  and 
found  him  a  mile  from  Girgenti.  He  lay  murdered 
at  the  roadside. 

A  search  for  the  murderer  was  immediately  insti- 
tuted. Strict  examinations  of  the  miners  were  held, 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  359 

but  the  culprit  could  not  be  discovered.  There 
were  no  witnesses;  no  one  could  be  prevailed  upon 
to  betray  a  comrade. 

Then  Margherita  Cornado  appeared  and  denounced 
Orestes,  who  was  the  son  of  her  godmother,  Santuzza, 
and  who  had  not  moved  to  Racalmuto  at  all. 

She  did  it  although  she  had  heard  afterwards 
that  her  betrothed  had  been  guilty  of  everything  of 
which  Santuzza  had  accused  him.  She  did  it 
although  she  herself  had  sealed  his  doom  by  kissing 
the  knife. 

She  had  hardly  accused  Orestes  before  she  re- 
pented of  it;  she  was  filled  with  the  anguish  of 
remorse. 

In  another  land  what  she  had  done  would  not 
have  been  considered  a  crime,  but  it  is  so  regarded 
in  Sicily.  A  Sicilian  would  rather  die  than  be  an 
informer. 

Margherita  Cornado  enjoyed  no  rest  either  by 
night  or  by  day.  She  had  a  continual  aching  feel- 
ing of  anguish  in  her  heart,  a  great  unhappiness 
dwelt  in  her. 

She  was  not  severely  judged,  because  every  one 
knew  that  she  had  loved  the  murdered  man  and 
thought  that  Santuzza  had  been  too  cruel  towards 
her.  No  one  spoke  of  her  disdainfully,  and  no  one 
refused  to  salute  her. 

But  it  made  no  difference  to  her  that  others  were 
kind  to  her.  Remorse  filled  her  soul  and  tortured 
her  like  an  aching  wound.  Orestes  had  been  sen- 
tenced to  the  galleys  for  life.  Santuzza  had  died  a 
few  weeks  after  her  son's  sentence  had  been  passed, 
and  Margherita  could  not  ask  forgiveness  of  either  of 
them. 


360          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

She  called  on  the  saints,  but  they  would  not  help 
her.  It  seemed  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  could 
have  the  power  to  free  her  from  the  horror  of 
remorse. 

At  that  time  the  famous  Franciscan  monk,  Father 
Gondo,  was  sojourning  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Girgenti.  He  was  preaching  a  pilgrimage  to 
Diamante. 

It  did  not  disturb  Father  Gondo  not  to  have  the 
pope  acknowledge  the  Christ-image  in  the  church 
of  San  Pasquale  as  a  miracle-worker.  He  had  met 
the  blind  singers  on  his  wanderings  and  had  heard 
them  tell  of  the  image.  Through  long,  happy 
nights  he  had  sat  at  the  feet  of  Father  Elia  and 
Brother  Tommaso,  and  from  sunset  to  sunrise  they 
had  told  him  of  the  image. 

And  now  the  famous  preacher  had  begun  to  send 
all  who  were  in  trouble  to  the  great  miracle-worker. 
He  warned  the  people  not  to  let  that  holy  time  pass 
unheeded.  "The  Christchild,"  he  said,  "had  not 
hitherto  been  much  worshipped  in  Sicily.  The 
time  had  come  when  he  wished  to  possess  a  church 
and  followers.  And  to  effect  it  he  let  his  holy 
image  perform  miracle  after  miracle." 

Father  Gondo,  who  had  passed  his  novitiate  in 
the  monastery  of  Aracoeli  on  the  Capitol,  told  the 
people  of  the  image  of  the  Christchild  that  was 
there,  and  of  the  thousand  miracles  he  had  per- 
formed. "And  now  that  good  little  child  wishes 
to  be  worshipped  in  Sicily,"  said  Father  Gondo. 
"  Let  us  hesitate  no  longer,  and  hasten  to  him.  For 
the  moment  heaven  is  generous.  Let  us  be  the 
first  to  acknowledge  the  image !  Let  us  be  like  the 
shepherds  and  wise  men  of  the  East;  let  us  go  to 


ONLY  OF   THIS   WORLD  361 

the  holy  child  while  he  is  still  lying  on  his  bed  of 
straw  in  the  miserable  hut ! " 

Margherita  Cornado  was  filled  with  a  new  hope 
when  she  heard  him.  She  was  the  first  to  obey 
Father  Gondo's  summons.  After  her  others  joined 
him  also.  Forty  pilgrims  marched  with  him  through 
the  plateaus  of  the  inland  to  Diamante. 

They  were  all  very  poor  and  unhappy.  But 
Father  Gondo  made  them  march  with  song  and 
prayer.  Soon  their  eyes  began  to  shine  as  if  the 
star  of  Bethlehem  had  gone  before  them. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Father  Gondo,  "why  God's 
son  is  greater  than  all  the  saints?  Because  he 
gives  the  soul  holiness;  because  he  forgives  sins; 
because  he  grants  to  the  spirit  a  blessed  trust  in 
God;  because  his  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world." 

When  his  little  army  looked  tired,  he  gave  them 
new  life  by  telling  them  of  the  miracles  the  image 
had  performed.  The  legends  of  the  blind  singers 
were  like  cooling  drinks  and  cheering  wine.  The 
poor  wanderers  in  the  barren  lands  of  Sicily  walked 
with  a  lighter  step,  as  if  they  were  on  their  way  to 
Nazareth  to  see  the  carpenter's  son. 

"He  will  take  all  our  burdens  from  us,"  said 
Father  Gondo.  "When  we  come  back  our  hearts 
will  be  freed  from  every  care." 

And  during  the  wandering  through  the  scorched, 
glowing  desert,  where  no  trees  gave  cooling  shade, 
and  where  the  water  was  bitter  with  salt  and  sul- 
phur, Margherita  Cornado  felt  that  her  heart's 
torments  were  relieved.  "  The  little  king  of  heaven 
will  take  away  my  pain,"  she  said. 

At  last,  one  day  in  May,  the  pilgrims  reached  the 
foot  of  the  hill  of  Diamante.  There  the  desert 


362  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

stopped.  They  saw  about  them  groves  of  olive« 
trees  and  fresh  green  leaves.  The  mountain  shone; 
the  town  shone.  They  felt  that  they  had  come  to 
a  place  in  the  shadow  of  God's  grace. 

They  toiled  joyfully  up  the  zigzag  path,  and  with 
loud  and  exultant  voices  sang  an  old  pilgrims'  song. 

When  they  had  gone  some  way  up  the  mountain, 
people  came  running  from  Diamante  to  meet  them. 
When  the  people  heard  the  monotonous  sound  of  the 
old  song,  they  threw  aside  their  work  and  hurried 
out.  And  the  people  of  Diamante  embraced  and 
kissed  the  pilgrims. 

They  had  expected  them  long  ago ;  they  could  not 
understand  why  they  had  not  come  before.  The 
Christ-image  of  Diamante  was  a  wonderful  miracle- 
worker;  he  was  so  compassionate,  so  loving  that 
every  one  ought  to  come  to  him. 

When  Margherita  Cornado  heard  them  she  felt  as 
if  her  heart  was  already  healed  of  its  pain.  All  the 
people  of  Diamante  comforted  her  and  encouraged 
her.  "  He  will  'certainly  help  you;  he  helps  every 
one,"  they  said.  "No  one  has  prayed  to  him  in 
vain." 

At  the  town-gate  the  pilgrims  parted.  The  towns- 
people took  them  to  their  homes,  so  that  they  might 
rest  after  their  journey.  In  an  hour  they  were  all 
to  meet  at  the  Porta  Etnea  in  order  to  go  out  to  the 
image  together. 

But  Margherita  had  not  the  patience  to  wait  a 
whole  hour.  She  asked  her  way  out  to  the  church 
of  San  Pasquale  and  went  there  alone  before  all  the 
others. 

When  Father  Gondo  and  the  pilgrims  came  out  to 
San  Pasquale  an  hour  later,  they  saw  Margherita 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  363 

Cornado  sitting  on  the  platform  by  the  high  altar. 
She  was  sitting  still  and  did  not  seem  to  notice 
their  coming.  But  when  Father  Gondo  came  close 
up  to  her,  she  started  up  as  if  she  had  lain  in  wait 
for  him  and  threw  herself  upon  him.  She  seized 
him  by  the  throat  and  tried  to  strangle  him. 

She  was  big,  splendidly  developed  and  strong. 
It  was  only  after  a  severe  struggle  that  Father 
Gondo  and  two  of  the  pilgrims  succeeded  in  subdu- 
ing her.  She  was  quite  mad,  and  so  violent  that 
she  had  to  be  bound. 

The  pilgrims  had  come  in  a  solemn  procession; 
they  sang,  and  held  burning  candles  in  their  hands. 
There  was  a  long  line  of  them,  for  many  people 
from  Diamante  had  joined  them.  Those  who  came 
first  immediately  stopped  their  singing;  those  com- 
ing after  had  noticed  nothing  and  continued  their 
song.  But  then  the  news  of  what  had  happened 
oassed  from  file  to  file,  and  wherever  it  came  the 
«ong  stopped.  It  was  horrible  to  hear  how  it  died 
away  and  changed  into  a  low  wail. 

All  the  weary  pilgrims  realized  that  they  had 
(ailed  in  their  coming.  All  their  laborious  wander- 
ings had  been  in  vain.  They  were  disappointed  in 
their  beautiful  hopes.  The  holy  image  would  have 
no  consolation  to  offer  them. 

Father  Gondo  himself  was  in  despair.  It  was  a 
more  severe  blow  to  him  than  to  any  one  else,  for 
each  one  of  the  others  had  only  his  own  sorrow  to 
think  of,  but  he  bore  the  sorrows  of  all  those  people 
in  his  heart.  What  answer  could  he  give  to  all  the 
hopes  he  had  awakened  in  them  ? 

Suddenly  one  of  his  beautiful,  child-like  smiles 
passed  over  his  face.  The  image  must  wish  to  test 


364          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

his  faith  and  that  of  the  others.  If  only  they  did 
not  fail,  they  would  certainly  be  helped. 

He  began  again  to  sing  the  pilgrim  song  in  his 
clear  voice  and  went  up  to  the  altar. 

But  as  he  came  nearer  to  the  image,  he  broke  off 
in  his  song  again.  He  stopped  and  looked  at  the 
image  with  staring  eyes.  Then  he  stretched  out 
his  hand,  took  the  crown  and  brought  it  close  to  his 
eyes.  "It  is  written  there;  it  is  written  there,"  he 
murmured.  And  he  let  the  crown  fall  from  his 
hand  and  roll  down  on  the  stone  floor. 

From  that  moment  Father  Gondo  knew  that  the 
outcast  from  Aracoeli  was  before  him. 

But  he  did  not  immediately  cry  it  out  to  the 
people,  but  said  instead,  with  his  usual  gentle- 
ness, — 

"  My  friends,  I  wish  to  tell  you  something  strange. " 

He  told  them  of  the  Englishwoman  who  had 
wished  to  steal  the  Christ-image  of  Aracoeli.  And 
he  told  how  the  image  had  been  called  Antichrist 
and  had  been  cast  out  into  the  world. 

"I  still  remember  old  Fra  Simone,"  said  Father 
Gondo.  "  He  never  showed  me  the  image  without 
saying :  '  It  was  this  little  hand  that  rang.  It  was 
this  little  foot  that  kicked  on  the  door. ' 

"  But  when  I  asked  Fra  Simone  what  had  become 
of  the  other  image,  he  always  said :  '  What  should 
have  become  of  him?  The  dogs  of  Rome  have 
probably  dragged  him  away  and  torn  him  to 
pieces. ' ' 

When  Father  Gondo  had  finished  speaking,  he 
went,  still  quite  slowly  and  quietly,  and  picked  up 
the  crown  that  he  had  just  let  fall  to  the  floor. 

"  Now    read   that ! "   he   said.      And    he    let    the 


ONLY  OF  THIS  WORLD  365 

crown  go  from  man  to  man.  The  people  stood  with 
their  wax-candles  in  their  hands  and  lighted  up  the 
crown  with  them.  Those  who  could  read,  read;  the 
others  saw  that  at  least  there  was  an  inscription. 

And  each  one  who  had  held  the  crown  in  his  hand 
instantly  extinguished  his  candle. 

When  the  last  candle  was  put  out,  Father  Gondo 
turned  to  his  pilgrims  who  had  gathered  about  him. 
"I  have  brought  you  here,"  he  said  to  them,  "that 
you  might  find  one  who  gives  the  soul  peace  and  an 
entry  to  God's  kingdom ;  but  I  have  brought  you 
wrong,  for  this  one  has  no  such  thing  to  give.  His 
kingdom  is  only  of  this  world. 

"  Our  unfortunate  sister  has  gone  mad,"  continued 
Father  Gondo,  "because  she  came  here  and  hoped 
for  heavenly  benefits.  Her  reason  gave  way  when 
her  prayers  were  not  heard.  He  could  not  hear  her, 
for  his  kingdom  is  only  of  this  world." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  they  all  looked  up 
at  him  to  find  out  what  they  ought  to  think  of  it 
all. 

He  asked  as  quietly  as  before :  "  Shall  an  image 
which  bears  such  words  in  its  crown  any  longer  be 
allowed  to  desecrate  an  altar?  " 

"No,  no!"  cried  the  pilgrims.  The  people  of 
Diamante  stood  silent. 

Father  Gondo  took  the  image  in  his  hands  and 
carried  it  on  his  outstretched  arms  through  the 
church  and  towards  the  door. 

But  although  the  Father  had  spoken  gently  and 
humbly,  his  eyes  had  rested  the  whole  time  sternly 
and  with  compelling  force  on  the  crowd  of  people. 
There  was  not  one  there  whom  he  had  not  subdued 
and  mastered  by  the  strength  of  his  will.  Every 


366          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

one  had  felt   paralyzed   and   without  the  power  of 
thinking  independently. 

As  Father  Gondo  approached  the  door,  he  stopped 
and  looked  around.  One  last  commanding  glance 
fell  on  the  people. 

"The  crown  also,"  said  Father  Gondo.  And  the 
crown  was  handed  to  him. 

He  set  the  image  down  and  went  out  under  the 
stone  canopy  that  protected  the  image  of  San 
Pasquale.  He  whispered  a  word  to  a  couple  of  pil- 
grims, and  they  hurried  away.  They  soon  came 
back  with  their  arms  full  of  branches  and  logs. 
They  laid  them  down  before  Father  Gondo  and  set 
them  on  fire. 

All  who  had  been  in  the  church  had  crowded  out. 
They  stood  in  the  yard  outside  the  church,  still 
subdued,  with  no  will  of  their  own.  They  saw  that 
the  monk  meant  to  burn  their  beloved  image  that 
helped  them  so,  and  yet  they  made  no  resistance. 
They  could  not  understand  themselves  why  they  did 
not  try  to  save  the  image. 

When  Father  Gondo  saw  the  fire  kindle  and  there- 
fore felt  that  the  image  was  entirely  in  his  power, 
he  straightened  himself  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

"  My  poor  children,"  he  said  gently,  and  turned 
to  the  people  of  Diamante.  "You  have  been  har- 
boring a  terrible  guest.  How  is  it  possible  for  you 
not  to  have  discovered  who  he  is? 

"What  ought  I  to  believe  of  you?"  he  continued 
more  sternly.  "  You  yourselves  say  that  the  image 
has  given  you  everything  for  which  you  have  prayed. 
Has  no  one  in  Diamante  in  all  these  years  prayed 
for  the  forgiveness  of  sins  and  the  peace  of  the 
soul? 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  367 

"Can  it  be  possible?  The  people  of  Diamante 
have  not  had  anything  to  pray  for  except  lottery 
numbers  and  good  years  and  daily  bread  and  health 
and  money.  They  have  asked  for  nothing  but  the 
good  of  this  world.  Not  one  has  needed  to  pray  for 
heavenly  grace. 

"Can  it  really  be?  No,  it  is  impossible,"  said 
Father  Gondo  joyfully,  as  if  filled  with  a  sudden 
hope.  "It  is  I  who  have  made  a  mistake.  The 
people  of  Diamante  have  understood  that  I  would 
not  lay  the  image  on  the  fire  without  asking  and 
investigating  about  it.  You  are  only  waiting  for 
me  to  be  silent  to  step  forward  and  give  your 
testimony. 

"  Many  will  now  come  and  say :  '  That  image  has 
made  me  a  believer; '  and  many  will  say:  '  He  has 
granted  me  the  forgiveness  of  sins; '  and  many  will 
say :  '  He  has  opened  my  eyes,  so  that  I  have  been 
able  to  gaze  on  the  glory  of  heaven."  They  will 
come  forward  and  speak,  and  I  shall  be  mocked  and 
derided  and  compelled  to  bear  the  image  to  the 
altar  and  acknowledge  that  I  have  been  mistaken." 

Father  Gondo  stopped  speaking  and  smiled  invit- 
ingly at  the  people,  A  quick  movement  passed 
through  the  crowd  of  listeners.  Several  seemed  to 
have  the  intention  of  coming  forward  and  testifying. 
They  came  a  few  steps,  but  then  they  stopped. 

"I  am  waiting,"  said  the  Father,  and  his  eye? 
implored  and  called  on  the  people  to  come. 

No  one  came.  The  whole  mass  of  people  was 
in  wailing  despair  that  they  would  not  testify  to  the 
advantage  of  their  beloved  image.  But  no  one  did 
so. 

"My  poor  children,"   said   Father  Gondo,  sadly. 


368          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"You  have  had  Antichrist  among  you,  and  he  has 
got  possession  of  you.  You  have  forgotten  heaven. 
You  have  forgotten  that  you  possess  a  soul.  You 
think  only  of  this  world. 

"  Formerly  it  was  said  that  the  people  of  Diamante 
were  the  most  religious  in  Sicily.  Now  it  must  be 
otherwise.  The  inhabitants  of  Diamante  are  slaves 
of  the  world.  Perhaps  they  are  even  infidel  social- 
ists, who  love  only  the  earth.  They  can  be  nothing 
else.  They  have  had  Antichrist  among  them." 

When  the  people  were  accused  in  such  a  way, 
they  seemed  at  last  to  be  about  to  rise  in  resistance. 
An  angry  muttering  passed  through  the  ranks. 

"The  image  is  holy,"  one  cried.  "When  he 
came  San  Pasquale's  bells  rang  all  day." 

"  Could  they  ring  for  less  time  to  warn  you  of 
such  a  misfortune?"  rejoined  the  monk. 

He  went  on  with  his  accusations  with  growing 
violence.  "  You  are  idolaters,  not  Christians.  You 
serve  him  because  he  helps  you.  There  is  nothing 
of  the  spirit  of  holiness  in  you." 

"He  has  been  kind  and  merciful,  like  Christ," 
answered  the  people. 

"Is  not  just  that  the  misfortune?"  said  the 
Father,  and  now  all  of  a  sudden  he  was  terrible  in 
his  wrath.  "  He  has  taken  the  likeness  of  Christ  to 
lead  you  astray.  In  that  way  he  has  been  able  to 
weave  his  web  about  you.  By  scattering  gifts  and 
blessings  over  you,  he  has  lured  you  into  his  net 
and  made  you  slaves  of  the  world.  Or  is  it  not  so  ? 
Perhaps  some  one  can  come  forward  and  say  the 
contrary  ?  Perhaps  he  has  heard  that  some  one  who 
is  not  present  to-day  has  prayed  to  the  image  for  a 
heavenly  grace." 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  369 

"He  has  taken  away  the  power  of  zjettatore" 
said  one. 

"  Is  it  not  he  who  is  as  great  in  evil  as  \bzjettatort 
who  has  power  over  him?"  answered  the  father, 
bitterly. 

They  made  no  other  attempts  to  defend  the  image. 
Everything  that  they  said  seemed  only  to  make  the 
matter  worse. 

Several  looked  round  for  Donna  Micaela,  who  was 
also  present.  She  stood  among  the  crowd,  heard 
and  saw  everything,  but  made  no  attempt  to  save  the 
image. 

When  Father  Gondo  had  said  that  the  image  was 
Antichrist  she  had  been  terrified,  and  when  he 
showed  that  the  people  of  Diamante  had  only  asked 
for  the  good  of  this  world,  her  terror  had  grown. 
She  had  not  dared  to  do  anything.  » 

But  when  he  said  that  she  and  all  the  others  were 
in  the  power  of  Antichrist,  something  in  her  rose 
against  him.  "No,  no,"  she  said,  "it  cannot  be 
so."  If  she  should  believe  that  an  evil  power  had 
governed  her  during  so  many  years,  her  reason 
would  give  way.  And  her  reason  began  to  defend 
itself. 

Her  faith  in  the  supernatural  broke  in  her  like  a 
string  too  tightly  stretched.  She  could  not  follow 
it  any  longer. 

With  infinite  swiftness  everything  of  the  super- 
natural that  she  herself  had  experienced  flashed 
through  her  mind,  and  she  passed  sentence  on  it. 
Was  there  a  single  proven  miracle?  She  said  to 
herself  that  there  were  coincidences,  coincidences. 

It  was  like  unravelling  a  skein.  From  what  she 
herself  had  experienced  she  passed  to  the  miracles 

24 


370         THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

of  other  times.  They  were  coincidences.  They 
were  hypnotism.  They  were  possibly  legends,  most 
of  them. 

The  raging  monk  continued  to  curse  the  people 
with  terrible  words.  She  tried  to  listen  to  him  to 
get  away  from  her  own  thoughts.  But  all  she 
thought  was  that  what  he  said  was  madness  and 
lies. 

What  was  going  on  in  her?  Was  she  becoming 
an  atheist? 

She  looked  about  for  Gaetano.  He  was  there 
also;  he  stood  on  the  church  steps  quite  near  the 
monk.  His  eyes  rested  on  her.  And  as  surely  as 
if  she  had  told  him  it,  he  knew  what  was  passing 
in  her.  But  he  did  not  look  as  if  he  were  glad  or 
triumphant  He  looked  as  if  he  wished  to  stop 
Father  Gondo,  to  save  a  little  vestige  of  faith  for 
her. 

Donna  Micaela's  thoughts  had  no  mercy.  They 
went  on  and  robbed  her  soul.  All  the  glowing 
world  of  the  supernatural  was  destroyed,  crushed. 
She  said  to  herself  that  no  one  knew  anything  of 
celestial  matters,  nor  could  know  anything.  Many 
messages  had  gone  from  earth  to  heaven.  None  had 
gone  from  heaven  to  earth. 

"But  I  will  still  believe  in  God,"  she  said,  and 
clasped  her  hands  as  if  still  to  hold  fast  the  last  and 
best. 

"Your  eyes,  people  of  Diamante,  are  wild  and 
evil,"  said  Father  Gondo.  "God  is  not  in  you. 
Antichrist  has  driven  God  away  from  you." 

Donna  Micaela's  eyes  again  sought  Gaetano's. 
"Can  you  give  a  poor,  doubting  creature  something 
on  which  to  live?"  they  seemed  to  ask.  His  eyes 


ONLY  OF  THIS   WORLD  371 

met  hers  with  proud  confidence.  He  read  in  her 
beautiful,  imploring  eyes  how  her  trembling  soul 
clung  to  him  for  support.  He  did  not  doubt  for  a 
moment  that  he  would  be  able  to  make  her  life 
beautiful  and  rich. 

She  thought  of  the  joy  that  always  met  him  where- 
ever  he  showed  himself.  She  thought  of  the  joy 
that  had  roared  about  her  that  night  in  Palermo. 
She  knew  that  it  rose  from  the  new  faith  in  a  happy 
earth.  Could  that  faith  and  that  joy  take  posses- 
sion of  her  also? 

She  wrung  her  hands  in  anguish.  Could  that 
new  faith  be  anything  to  her?  Would  she  not 
always  feel  as  unhappy  as  now? 

Father  Gondo  bent  forward  over  the  fire. 

"I  say  to  you  once  more,"  he  cried,  "if  only  one 
person  comes  and  says  that  this  image  has  saved  his 
soul,  I  will  not  burn  it." 

Donna  Micaela  had  a  sudden  feeling  that  she  did 
not  wish  the  poor  image  to  be  destroyed.  The 
memory  of  the  most  beautiful  hours  of  her  life  was 
bound  to  it. 

"Gandolfo,  Gandolfo,"  she  whispered.  She  had 
just  seen  him  beside  her. 

"Yes,  Donna  Micaela." 

"Do  not  let  him  burn  the  image,  Gandolfo!" 

The  monk  had  repeated  his  question  once,  twice, 
thrice.  No  one  came  forward  to  defend  the  image. 
But  little  Gandolfo  crept  nearer  and  nearer. 

Father  Gondo  brought  the  image  ever  closer  to 
the  fire. 

Involuntarily  Gaetano  had  bent  forward.  Invol- 
untarily a  proud  smile  passed  over  his  face.  Donna 
Micaela  saw  that  he  felt  that  Diamante  belonged  to 


3/2  THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

him.  The  monk's  wild  proceedings  made  Gaetano 
master  of  their  souls. 

She  looked  about  in  terror.  Her  eyes  wandered 
from  face  to  face.  Was  the  same  thing  going  on 
in  all  those  people's  souls  as  in  her  own?  She 
thought  she  saw  that  it  was  so. 

"Thou,  Antichrist,"  said  Father  Gondo,  threaten- 
ingly, "dost  thou  see  that  no  one  has  thought  of  his 
soul  as  long  as  thou  hast  been  here?  Thou  must 
perish." 

Father  Gondo  laid  the  outcast  on  the  pyre. 

But  the  image  had  not  lain  there  more  than  a 
second  before  Gandolfo  seized  him. 

He  caught  him  up,  lifted  him  high  above  his 
head,  and  ran.  Father  Gondo's  pilgrims  hurried 
after  him,  and  there  began  a  wild  chase  down  Monte 
Chiaro's  precipices. 

But  little  Gandolfo  saved  the  image. 

Down  the  road  a  big,  heavy  travelling-carriage 
came  driving.  Gandolfo,  whose  pursuers  were  close 
at  his  heels,  knew  nothing  better  to  do  than  to 
throw  the  image  into  the  carriage. 

Then  he  let  himself  be  caught.  When  his  pur- 
suers wished  to  hurry  after  the  carriage,  he  stopped 
them.  "Take  care;  the  lady  in  the  carriage  is 
English." 

It  was  Signora  Favara,  who  had  at  last  wearied 
of  Diamante  and  was  travelling  out  into  the  world 
once  more.  And  she  was  allowed  to  go  away  un- 
molested. No  Sicilian  dares  to  lay  hands  on  an 
Englishwoman. 


A   FKESCO  OF  SIGNORELL1  373 


A  FRESCO   OF  SIGNORELLI 

A  WEEK  later  Father  Gondo  was  in  Rome.  He  was 
granted  an  interview  with  the  old  man  in  the 
Vatican  and  told  him  how  he  had  found  Antichrist 
in  the  likeness  of  Christ,  how  the  former  had  en- 
tangled the  people  of  Diamante  in  worldliness,  and 
how  he,  Father  Gondo,  had  wished  to  burn  him. 
He  also  told  how  he  had  not  been  able  to  lead  the 
people  back  to  God.  Instead,  all  Diamante  had 
fallen  into  unbelief  and  socialism.  No  one  there 
cared  for  his  soul ;  no  one  thought  of  heaven.  Father 
Gondo  asked  what  he  should  do  with  those  unfortu- 
nate people. 

The  old  pope,  who  is  wiser  than  any  one  now 
living,  did  not  laugh  at  Father  Gondo's  story;  he 
was  deeply  distressed  by  it. 

"You  have  done  wrong;  you  have  done  very 
wrong,"  he  said. 

He  sat  silent  for  a  while  and  pondered;  then  he 
said :  "  You  have  not  seen  the  Cathedral  in  Orvieto  ?  " 
—  "No,  Holy  Father. "  — " Then  go  there  now  and 
see  it,"  said  the  pope;  "and  when  you  come  back 
again,  you  shall  tell  me  what  you  have  seen  there." 

Father  Gondo  obeyed.  He  went  to  Orvieto  and 
saw  the  most  holy  Cathedral.  And  in  two  days  he 
was  back  in  the  Vatican. 


374          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"What  did  you  see  in  Orvieto?"  the  pope  asked 
him. 

Father  Gondo  said  that  in  one  of  the  chapels  of 
the  Cathedral  he  had  found  some  frescoes  of  Luca 
Signorelli,  representing  "  The  Last  Judgment." 
But  he  had  not  looked  at  either  the  "Last  Judg- 
ment" or  at  the  "Resurrection  of  The  Dead." 
He  had  fixed  all  his  attention  on  the  big  paint- 
ing which  the  guide  called  "The  Miracles  of  An- 
tichrist." 

"  What  did  you  see  in  it  ? "  asked  the  pope. 

"  I  saw  that  Signorelli  had  painted  Antichrist  as 
a  poor  and  lowly  man,  just  as  the  Son  of  God  was 
when  he  lived  here  on  earth.  I  saw  that  he  had 
dressed  him  like  Christ  and  given  him  Christ's 
features. 

"What  more  did  you  see?  "  said  the  pope. 

"  The  first  thing  that  I  saw  in  the  fresco  was  Anti- 
christ preaching  so  that  the  rich  and  the  mighty 
came  and  laid  their  treasures  at  his  feet. 

"The  second  thing  I  saw  was  a  sick  man  brought 
to  Antichrist  and  healed  by  him. 

"The  third  thing  I  saw  was  a  martyr  proclaiming 
Antichrist  and  suffering  death  for  him. 

"  The  fourth  thing  I  saw  in  the  great  wall-picture 
was  the  people  hastening  to  a  great  temple  of  peace, 
the  spirit  of  evil  hurled  from  heaven,  and  all  men  of 
violence  killed  by  heaven's  thunderbolts." 

"What  did  you  think  when  you  saw  that?"  asked 
the  pope. 

"When  I  saw  it,  I  thought:  '  That  Signorelli  was 
mad.  Does  he  mean  that  in  the  time  of  Antichrist 
evil  shall  be  conquered,  and  the  earth  become  holy 
as  a  paradise  ? '  " 


A  FRESCO  OF  SIGNORELLI  375 

"  Did  you  see  anything  else?  " 

"The  fifth  thing  I  saw  depicted  in  the  painting 
was  the  monks  and  priests  piled  up  on  a  big  bonfire 
and  burned. 

"And  the  sixth  and  last  thing  I  saw  was  the 
Devil  whispering  in  Antichrist's  ear,  and  suggest- 
ing to  him  how  he  was  to  act  and  speak." 

"What  did  you  think  when  you  saw  that? " 

"I  said  to  myself:  'That  Signorelli  is  not  mad; 
he  is  a  prophet.  Antichrist  will  certainly  come  in 
the  likeness  of  Christ  and  make  a  paradise  of  the 
world.  He  will  make  it  so  beautiful  that  the  people 
will  forget  heaven.  And  it  will  be  the  world's 
most  terrible  temptation. ' ' 

"Do  you  understand  now,"  said  the  pope,  "that 
there  was  nothing  new  in  all  that  you  told  me? 
The  Church  has  always  known  that  Antichrist 
would  come,  armed  with  the  virtues  of  Christ." 

"  Did  you  also  know  that  he  had  actually  come, 
Holy  Father?"  asked  Father  Gondo. 

"Could  I  sit  here  on  Peter's  chair  year  after  year 
without  knowing  that  he  has  come?  "  said  the  pope. 
"  I  see  starting  a  movement  of  the  people,  which 
burns  with  love  for  its  neighbor  and  hates  God.  I 
see  people  becoming  martyrs  for  the  new  hope  of  a 
happy  ear.th.  I  see  how  they  receive  new  joy  and 
new  courage  from  the  words  '  Think  of  the  earth,' 
as  they  once  found  them  in  the  words  '  Think  of 
heaven. '  I  knew  that  he  whom  Signorelli  had  fore- 
told had  come." 

Father  Gondo  bowed  silently. 

"  Do  you  understand  now  wherein  you  did  wrong  ? " 

"Holy  Father,  enlighten  me  as  to  my  sin." 

The  old  pope  looked  up.     His  clear  eyes  looked 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

through   the  veil   of   chance  which  shrouds  future 
events  and  saw  what  was  hidden  behind  it. 

"Father  Gondo,"  he  said,  "that  little  child  with 
whom  you  fought  in  Diamante,  the  child  who  was 
merciful  and  wonder-working  like  Christ,  that  poor, 
despised  child  who  conquered  you  and  whom  you 
call  Antichrist,  do  you  not  know  who  he  is?" 

"No,  Holy  Father." 

"And  he  who  in  Signorelli's  picture  healed  the 
sick,  and  softened  the  rich,  and  felled  evil-doers  to 
the  earth,  who  transformed  the  earth  to  a  paradise 
and  tempted  the  people  to  forget  heaven.  Do  you 
not  know  who  he  is  ? " 

"No,  Holy  Father." 

"Who  else  can  he  be  but  the  Antichristianity, 
socialism  ? " 

The  monk  looked  up  in  terror. 

"Father  Gondo,"  said  the  pope,  sternly,  "when 
you  held  the  image  in  your  arms  you  wished  to 
burn  him.  Why?  Why  were  you  not  loving  to 
him?  Why  did  you  not  carry  him  back  to  the 
little  Christchild  on  the  Capitolium  from  whom  he 
proceeded  ? 

"That  is  what  you  wandering  monks  could  do. 
You  could  take  the  great  popular  movement  in  your 
arms,  while  it  is  still  lying  like  a  child  in  its 
swaddling  clothes,  and  you  could  bear  it  to  Jesus' 
feet;  and  Antichrist  would  see  that  he  is  nothing 
but  an  imitation  of  Christ,  and  would  acknowledge 
him  his  Lord  and  Master.  But  you  do  not  do  so. 
You  cast  Antichristianity  on  the  pyre,  and  soon  he 
in  his  turn  will  cast  you  there." 

Father  Gondo  bent  his  knee.  "  I  understand, 
Holy  Father.  I  will  go  and  look  for  the  image." 


A  FXESCO  OF  SIGN  ORE  LU  377 

The  pope  rose  majestically.  "  You  shall  not 
look  for  the  image;  you  shall  let  him  go  his  way 
through  the  ages.  We  do  not  fear  him.  When  he 
comes  to  storm  the  Capitol  in  order  to  mount  the 
throne  of  the  world,  we  shall  meet  him,  and  we 
shall  lead  him  to  Christ.  We  shall  make  peace 
between  earth  and  heaven.  But  you  do  wrong,"  he 
continued  more  mildly,  "  to  hate  him.  You  must 
have  forgotten  that  the  sibyl  considered  him  one  of 
the  redeemers  of  the  world.  '  On  the  heights  of  the 
Capitol  the  redeemer  of  the  world  shall  be  wor- 
shipped, Christ  or  Antichrist. ' ' 

"  Holy  Father,  if  the  miseries  of  this  world  are 
to  be  remedied  by  him,  and  heaven  suffers  no 
injury,  I  shall  not  hate  him." 

The  old  pope  smiled  his  most  subtle  smile. 

"Father  Gondo,  you  will  permit  me  also  to  tell 
you  a  Sicilian  story.  The  story  goes,  Father 
Gondo,  that  when  Our  Lord  was  busy  creating  the 
world,  He  wished  one  day  to  know  if  He  had  much 
more  work  to  do.  And  He  sent  San  Pietro  out  to 
see  if  the  world  was  finished. 

"When  San  Pietro  came  back,  he  said:  'Every 
one  is  weeping  and  sobbing  and  lamenting.' 

"  '  Then  the  world  is  not  finished,'  said  Our  Lord, 
and  He  went  on  working. 

"  Three  days  later  Our  Lord  sent  San  Pietro  again 
to  the  earth. 

"'Everyone  is  laughing  and  rejoicing  and  play- 
ing/ said  San  Pietro,  when  he  came  back. 

" '  Then  the  world  is  not  finished, '  said  Our  Lord, 
and  He  went  on  working. 

"  San  Pietro  was  dispatched  for  the  third  time. 


378          THE  MIRACLES  OF  ANTICHRIST 

"'  Some  are  weeping  and  some  are  laughing,'  he 
said,  when  he  came  back. 

"  'Then  the  world  is  finished, '  said  Our  Lord. 

"And  so  shall  it  be  and  continue,"  said  the  old 
pope.  "  No  one  can  save  mankind  from  their  sor- 
rows, but  much  is  forgiven  to  him  who  brings  new 
courage  to  bear  them." 


THE  END 


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